


Regarding the Strength of Minotaurs

by help_me_no



Series: The Strength of Minotaurs [1]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Angst, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Size Kink, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28523547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/help_me_no/pseuds/help_me_no
Summary: Theseus has grown used to being champion of Elysium, confident and comfortable in the knowledge that his strength is unmatched by any mortal being, living or dead. He forgets that Asterius is not the same creature he was when they fought in the labyrinth.
Relationships: Asterius | The Minotaur/Theseus (Hades Video Game)
Series: The Strength of Minotaurs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125833
Comments: 127
Kudos: 573





	1. Chapter 1

Theseus has always been the strongest person in any given situation. He’s powerful and skilled and fully aware of it and has no hesitation in taking pride in that fact. He can throw a heavy spear with ease across an arena, and heft a massive shield so steadily as to block any attack. He was the strongest warrior of his time in life, slaying bandits and beasts, defeating even the great minotaur in unarmed combat. And in death, he is the champion of Elysium. He has faced the mightiest warriors that have  _ ever _ lived in the arena, and he is mightier than them all.

Even the hellspawn that he now fights on a near-regular basis isn’t as strong as Theseus, not truly. He’s improved at a wildly alarming rate, and he beats Theseus and Asterius more often than not, but its a matter of a keen mind, a flexible disposition, and the aid of the whole pantheon of gods. Theseus still hits harder, and takes far more hits before he falls. He (and Asterius) still beat Zagreus on occasion, and, all things considered, Theseus would (and does) say thats an amazingly impressive feat.

Theseus is the strongest man in Elysium (Heracles be damned) which makes him the strongest warrior alive or dead, and he wears that title with confidence and pride. So it is understandable that when next he and Asterius are training in preparation for Zagreus’s next arrival, he tells his friend to fight him without reservation. He defeated Asterius once already, and, as he tells Asterius, they cannot train properly if Asterius holds back.

Which is how he finds himself, pinned flat on the ground, one massive hand on his chest, an inexorable weight. Asterius looms over him, backlit and casting a long shadow. There is a span of a moment where a flood of realizations strike Theseus: First, that in the labyrinth, Asterius was half-starved, untrained, and driven to distraction by a lifetime of loneliness and darkness. Second: Here in Elysium, his body is manifested at the pinnacle of its physical potential. He has been trained by Theseus himself, by every great warrior they fought together, by countless battles with the godling and powers bestowed by the greatest of Olympians. And Asterius basks in the light, in the adulation of the shades who sit in the arena’s stands, in Theseus’s friendship. Third: Theseus is achingly, embarrassingly, obviously hard.

Asterius whuffs a heavy breath, nostrils flaring ( _ gods, _ can he smell Theseus’s arousal?). By all obvious visual cues he is impassive as always, but Theseus has grown to know him, can feel the amusement radiating from him as strongly as he can the heat from Asterius’s body.

“Is this satisfactory, my king?” Asterius’s bass rumble resonates in Theseus’s chest where he lays pinned. The vibration of it seems to make the weight of Asterius’s hand even more pronounced.

“That is—“ Theseus’s voice catches in his throat. “You merely surprise me, my dearest friend! You caught me off guard!”

Surely that is the case, he tells himself. He was distracted, as he is distracted now by the flutter of Asterius’s long bovine eyelashes as he blinks once, slowly. Asterius does not bother to suppress a low amused noise before he speaks again.

“Very well, my king, I understand.”

But the press of his hand does not abate.

Theseus swallows down a lump in his throat, and then moves to brace his forearms in the ground beside him. He is Theseus, champion of Elysium. He is strong, and surely cannot be held down by the power of any mortal being. And, if nothing else, the pressure from Asterius is firm, but not weighty enough to cause any discomfort or pain. Surely Theseus can rise to this challenge and free himself.

He braces himself, with both his arms, and then after a beat, bends his legs to press his feet flat for good measure. He puts all his strength into levering himself up, and—nothing. His limbs are shaking with exertion and Asterius’s hand is like the walls of Elysium—steady and entirely immovable.

Theseus’s lungs and limbs burn (his cock aches), and still Asterius does not move. Until he does. For a moment pride thrills through Theseus, as he sits up. Then he stops. Suspended at an awkward angle Theseus stares up at Asterius and realizes, just as he (and Asterius’s hand with him) begins to move again, that he was not pushing the minotaur back, but rather Asterius is controlling his ascent. They start and stop a few times more—movement entirely independent of the effort Theseus is exerting, before he is fully upright, and Asterius releases him.

The span of Theseus’s chest where Asterius’s hand leaves him feels scalded—simultaneously burning and incredibly cold in the absence—and a part of his brain is incapable of thinking about anything but how wide Asterius’s single hand splayed across Theseus’s broad chest.

“Again then?”

Theseus startles at Asterius’s voice. He knows not how long he has been staring wide-eyed, and if his mouth was gaping like a landed fish, Asterius has the decency not to mention it.

Were Theseus more conscious of himself, he’d make an effort to project his voice in his usual confident boom. Instead when he speaks—“Pardon?”—it is at what most would consider a normal volume, and the tone is blatantly bewildered.

“You were surprised. Surprise may be a valid tactic in battle, but I suppose you are right. We fight in an arena now, and must ascribe to standards of honor and fair play, is it not so?”

“Yes,” Theseus starts, before finding himself, remodulating his voice, straightening up as if a change in posture will help him resettle his confidence. “Yes, that is indeed so! We can not accurately measure your strength and skill unless I am fully prepared to meet you head on!”

Asterius rises and Theseus stands after him. He closes his eyes for a moment, and takes a deep breath. This is a weakness he would show to no other but Asterius, but this small training ground is blessedly empty of wandering shades or exalted. When he opens them, he is himself again, Theseus, champion of Elysium. He ignores the brief clench of shame and the weight of Asterius’s gaze as it takes him a moment to realize his shield and spear still lay on the ground where he dropped them, and continues to ignore them as he bends to pick up his weapons.

He rolls his shoulder, settles his grip, and turns to face Asterius.

“Well then Asterius!” He hefts his shield in front of him, and braces his feet. “Come at me!”

Theseus is more prepared this time, but evidently not prepared enough. Asterius’s weight slams into his shield, and it takes only a moment and several lifetimes of experience for Theseus to understand that he cannot bear this. His shield, which has not faltered, even to the strongest attacks gods could lend Zagreus, cannot hold against Asterius. Reflexively he takes the only action he can: he rolls, deflecting Asterius’s charge off to the side, rather than try, and fail, to block directly. 

Asterius rounds on him, and grins (as much as the shape of his face allows). Theseus could not resist the answering grin on his own face even if he wanted to (which he does not).

When Asterius hefts his axe, (blunted, like Theseus’s spear by some art of Daedalus, made available to the heroes of Elysium when they train) slamming it into Theseus’s shield, it is marginally more bearable, but he feels the impact in his bones, shuddering up his arm and into his shoulder.

Asterius is remarkably fast, a fact Theseus has known for what must be lifetimes now, and yet never fails to surprise him when confronted with it. Throughout the fight Theseus often finds it difficult just to get his shield up in time, and every strike is like an earthquake, a thunderclap, like the hand of one of the gods themselves has reached down to shake Theseus like a rag doll. And when Theseus drives his blunted spear into Asterius’s side, Daedulus’s enchantment blocking the damage and dulling the pain, but magically hindering the body as a genuine injury would, Asterius never flinches, barely slows. It takes multiple blows to his arm before Theseus does enough hypothetical ‘damage’ that Daedalus’s enchantment begins to fumble Asterius’s grasp and slow his swings, and even then, Asterius simply adjust his grip to favor his other arm, unphased.

The fight is a delight, it’s a thrill, it’s a challenge like Theseus feels he has never faced before. His blood sings and his bones and muscles ache and his head feels light as if he has downed several bottles of ambrosia. Laughter spills from his lips, genuinely delighted, as they fight, and he can see the lightness and joy in the set of Asterius’s own shoulders, the looseness of his neck, the way his head tips to meet Theseus’s gaze (even when tactically he’d be better served watching Theseus’s stance, the angle of his spear arm, the tilt of his hips).

Theseus knows not how long they fight until they part a moment on opposite sides of the chamber. He is panting, shoulders heaving with exertion, and across from him he can see the faint sheen of sweat shining in Asterius’s short, fine coat of fur.

He is beaming at Asterius, delighting in the twinkle of amusement in Asterius’s eyes, when a shade tentatively peeks in.

“Yes? Is there something you need?”

The shade seems to flinch back a little at the boom of Theseus’s voice. It replies in the odd wordless way that shades of its type do, when they are too old or have too little sense of self to have maintained a clear incarnation of their earthly form. He and Asterius are wanted in the arena. A hero (preumably, for Theseus does not recognize or recall the name) wishes for a rematch.

Asterius snuffles. “I will go; he was hardly worth our time last bout, and I doubt he will be much better this time.” He turns to Theseus. “There is no need for you to trouble yourself with this, my king.”

Theseus opens his mouth to protest—Asterius would deny him the joy of fighting by his side, the cheers of the crowd, the entertainment of grinding a foe into the dirt? But he catches a brief movement in the corner of his eye, and he turns to see the shade averting its gaze from him. He could swear the shade looked down his body for a moment, though its eyes are indistinct enough there’s no real evidence of such.

He is suddenly aware, blinded with the knowledge like a beam of Apollo’s light after a thunderstorm, that he is still hard in the thin leggings he wears today. That he is obviously tenting the fall of his tunic. That Asterius still stands nearby, glistening as if slathered in oil, barely winded as if the fight had hardly forced any exertion. That, though the adrenaline and thrill distracted him from his arousal, the course of the fight only heightened it. Theseus is not ashamed of his body, of displaying himself as such to the shade, but Asterius’s gaze meeting his own makes him feel as if he’s been struck down upon the ground. He wonders if this is what it would’ve felt like had he failed to raise his shield in time to block a blow from Asterius. His legs are shaking.

“Ah... Of course my friend! Go and win a battle for us! Earn us further glory! You have surely proven yourself more than capable in a fight alone.”

Asterius nods, turns to follow the shade out. He pauses, then turns, glances at Theseus with a warmth and fondness in his eyes, a relaxation in his posture that is as good as a smile on a human face. Theseus feels it like a blow to his chest, hitting in an entirely different way than the knowledge of Asterius’s strength had. He stands there, in the center of the chamber for several minutes more, before tottering off to his private rooms on legs as unsteady as a newborn foal.

When he arrives, he manages to close his door behind him, falling back against it. He takes a moment to catch his breath, finds that he cannot, and presses the heel of his palm down against his clothed cock. His orgasm jerks out of him as if thrown from his body by a heavy blow. Theseus continues to stand there, trembling, as the mess in his legging cools, assailed by memories of Asterius’s hand pressing him down, the flex of his shoulders as he swung his axe, the width of his back, the smile apparent in his body language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on having more chapters for this but I’m marking it as complete since I can’t make promises, and it could hypothetically be concluded here.
> 
> Also this is anonymous (for now) because I’m always a little embarrassed when I first post smut before I get a sense of how it’ll be received. (Although this isn’t too smutty yet? I considered just marking it mature instead but I wasn’t sure.)  
> ┐(´-｀)┌
> 
> Lemme know what you think, if you’re up for it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The champions fight Zagreus. Theseus pines. Theseus blames a lot of people (but mostly Aphrodite).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the support and enthusiasm! Long author’s note at the end about where this fic is (probably) going but any important notes will be quick and dirty at the beginning of future chapters, so you can skip the long end notes if you want!

Theseus tries to put it out of mind. But Asterius is impossible to ignore (and Theseus would never want to ignore his dear friend), and being unable to ignore Asterius means being unable to ignore his strength and his size, which in turns makes it impossible to ignore how dizzyingly hot Theseus finds it all.

The next time the godling shows up in the arena, Theseus is momentarily distracted by the way Asterius’s thighs bulge as he crouches and leaps to deal a devastating blow. (The hit does not land, but the impact into the stone floor shakes the entire arena and something inside of Theseus.) He stares at the ripple of Asterius’s back as he stands, and entirely misses the hellspawn standing behind his own until he feels the cut of his blade in his side. He swings wide, spear spinning in an arc around himself, and is gratified to hear the grunt of pain as Zagreus fails to dodge out of the way in time. It is unusual for him to attack Theseus directly while the minotaur still stands, and after that brief blow, he returns to his usual pattern. (Theseus understands, even as it makes his blood boil with rage, having to watch his friend fall time and again. One would have to be a fool to face Asterius’s charge while Theseus rains down the wrath of whichever god chooses to aid him.)

Asterius falls, and Theseus cries out in rage and grief. (He knows Asterius will be fine, but fights in the arena are not blunted by Daedalus’s skills as they are in sparring outside of it. Death, or whatever it is that it can be called when one discorporates the already-dead, hurts. Asterius is hurt. Zagreus hurts Asterius and Theseus is rarely able to stop it.)

This time, when Zagreus injures Theseus enough that the gods deign to lend him aid, it is Aphrodite who answers his call. Theseus could swear he hears her laughter in the back of his head, and when her powers fail to hinder Zagreus, and Theseus falls, he is tempted to curse her. He does not; he is not a fool, especially now in death, and he will not risk losing the gods’ favor or earning their ire. _However._ He is beginning to wonder if he has not already unwittingly offended Aphrodite. (He is never sure whether his multiple wives and lovers were looked upon with fondness or disdain by the goddess of love. He surely would not have loved and lusted so intensely without her approval, but he is aware of his cruelty in leaving each behind, in so quickly losing interest and passion, and the ongoing cruelty of never trying to seek any out in death.)

Or perhaps he has not lost her favor, and is merely subject to one of the cruel, unpredictable, and unprovoked whims the Olympians are often subject to.

This distraction, this desire he feels for Asterius, falls within the goddess’s realm. He will admit, if only to himself, that he’d felt the stirrings of desire before when looking upon Asterius, but who could not? His physique is unparalleled and he is incredibly talented in a fight. Moreover, his hands are equally inclined towards kindness and gentleness as they are to battle. He is achingly, bittersweetly devoted to Theseus, despite the unforgivable sin Theseus had enacted upon him in life. And sometimes Asterius gazes up at the light of Ixion with such awe upon his face, as if he is startled by the fact he can now dwell in the light, as if he can scarcely believe he is worthy of it. (Theseus does not know if Asterius knows the truth of Ixion. He himself tries not to think about it, and if no one has told Asterius yet, he refuses to be the one to break the news. If it is the closest that Asterius can get to experiencing the sun, the sky, Theseus will not spoil it for him.)

So of course sometimes Theseus gazed upon his friend and felt twin stirrings in his gut and his heart. But he was able to carefully bundle them away and shut them out, relishing in the simple joy of having such an incredible being for a friend, for a brother-in-arms. The only explanation he can conjure for why he is suddenly now aware of Asterius’s strength and size after years of ignorance, for why this burn is one he cannot so easily ignore, is the meddling of Aphrodite.

Asterius is waiting for him beside one of the special pools of the Styx reserved for the Exalted who fight (and die) in Elysium. He is carefully running one of his massive hands down a bulging bicep, pressing the crystal clear waters from his fur. Theseus trembles a little, glad for the chill of the waters, as both an excuse for his shiver and the role they play in dampening his erection.

“I do not understand the logic of this,” Asterius grumbles, “The Styx hardly clings to our clothes, and does not dampen your skin; why must I be forced to wring it from my coat each time?”

Theseus can’t help but laugh—softer, gentler than he does with others. It must be terribly obvious how fond he is of his companion.

“I must wring it from my hair, my friend!” he replies, as he does just that. “Though I will admit it takes me very little time, but that may just be by the difference in how much hair we have!”

Asterius snuffs, reaching out one giant hand, and brushes a lock of hair away from Theseus’s face. It is not even damp, by whatever bizarre rules the Styx follows, but it does hang loose, no longer styled upon Theseus’s head. Theseus finds himself standing perfectly still.

“Perhaps.” And Asterius lets out a great sigh—a habit Theseus is sure he picked up from human shades, from the way it gusts out of his mouth rather than the usual huffs through his nose. “Would you—“ a pause, and Asterius turns his back to Theseus, “—would you aid me? I cannot fully reach.”

It is nothing Theseus has not done before, but not since his recent revelations—there had been no need.

“Of course, my friend!”

He praises his voice for its lack of tremor, as he kneels down, walking a few steps on his knees to get closer. Asterius is so massive it would not be terribly impractical even, to stand while undertaking this task, but he would have to kneel partway through anyways, and Theseus is not sure he trust the strength of his legs. He does wish he could sit back, if only so he could press his knees together in an attempt to stifle his arousal, but then he could not reach Asterius’s shoulders, so he remains upright, painfully aware of the way his hardness hangs between his legs.

He presses his palms, and sometimes the flat of his forearm, against Asterius’ back, dragging them down to help squeeze the excess water from his fur. He tries to ignore the swells of Asterius’s musculature beneath his hands, the way he can feel him shift, or the gentle rise-fall of his back and he breathes. Damn Aphrodite, damn his previous vows to watch what he thinks and who he offends, damn Asterius for having a perfect body, damn Zagreus for slaying them, damn himself for his distraction and inability to smother this desire.

It’s quiet, the only sounds to be heard are those of Asterius’s steady breathing, the melodic drip of water against the marble tiles, the gentle rush of the Lethe nearby. Normally, Theseus knows, he would maintain a running commentary to Asterius—complaining about how vile and underhanded Zagreus is, praising their own skill and strength, lamenting the failure to their fans. But he can barely trust himself to hide the hitch of his breath.

“You are very quiet, my king.” Of course Asterius has noticed.

“I am simply enjoying your company Asterius!”

It is true of course, even if it is a statement given as excuse. He wouldn’t trade this for anything. He does not fully know what compelled him, when first he died, to beseech Hades give him Asterius as a companion. All he knows is that when he died and awoke in this realm, his first thought was of the minotaur. He is indescribably glad he acted on that impulse, and that Hades indulged him.

“And I do wish you would call me by my name more often, Asterius! I do not know how many times I must ask this of you.”

Asterius hums a low note in assent, turning his head ever so slightly to meet Theseus’s gaze over his shoulder.

“Theseus.” Oh _no_. Theseus should not have asked that. Hearing his name fall from Asterius’s lips now is like a spear between his ribs, like a hammer to his skull, like being struck with a thousand volts of lightning. And somehow Asterius continues, as if he has not toppled the order of sky and earth around Theseus.

“I enjoy this too. Being here. Being with you.”

It is too much. Theseus’s heart will burst from his chest. He abruptly stands.

“Well! Your back is done! Now, my apologies but I must go!” Theseus struggles with an excuse, “Talk! To... Andromeda!” That will have to do.

Asterius turns towards Theseus, and there is something wounded and vulnerable to his countenance. Theseus’s steps falter for a moment, guilt weighing on his heart. He cannot stay, not until he settles himself, but he cannot leave Asterius thinking he has done something wrong. He has sworn himself to be better than that.

Before he can think any further he rushes to where Asterius still sits, cradling his cheek in his hand.

“You have done nothing wrong my friend, I simply have something I must do! I promise.”

He barely has to bend down to press a kiss to Asterius’s jaw, and then he turns and flees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote this chapter, I planned to have maybe 2 more after, which were increasingly smutty, and the mention of Andromeda was a throwaway line because the only resident of Elysium we’re given in Hades (besides these boys) would not tolerate Theseus. Instead I realized Andromeda has a lot of potential as a character to push Theseus and Asterius a bit, and then the next chapter spiraled out of control, and then the rest of the fic with it.
> 
> In other words, this fic now has 7 chapters and counting. I’ll probably post a couple a week, depending on how excited y’all are.
> 
> Also, next one gets quite a bit heavier, and references classical Theseus myths in an attempt to reconcile Theseus, mythological King Dirtbag Supreme, with Theseus, almost-charming blowhard we want to see get dicked down by the minotaur. If that’s not your thing and/or you’re just in it for the horny and the pining, you can probably skip it. (I might post chapter 4 back to back just to make up for it.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theseus has a chat, is forced to engage in some rare introspection, and experiences some emotional whiplash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets heavy with Theseus’s past and classical myths, and a good deal of angst with it. If that’s not for you or you just want the sweeter horny pining, you can skip this one and go right into next chapter.  
> TLDR at the end if you want (but you can skip that too without any real issue).
> 
> Also, heads up for people who don’t know all the myths I reference here, and might be inclined to look them up—some are Rough. No content warnings for this work since I don’t go into any real detail, and hopefully I provide enough context you can follow the flow/vibes of the conversation without knowing them, but if you decide to look them up, be aware several hit on the less pleasant themes you see in classical Greco-Roman myth.

Of course, Theseus refuses to lie to Asterius (in most things at least), so he seeks out Andromeda. He is admittedly fond of her, if only because she is fond of Asterius. He suspects it is some kinship in being abandoned by your parents, left to be sacrificed in one form or another, but he knows better than to ask about it. It is surely a raw topic for both of them, and having facilitated the wrongful death of his own son once, he has no room to comment. 

(Yet another sin to add to his tally, he thinks sometimes, in rare quiet moments. In those sometimes, he questions the judgement of Hades and the Fates that he resides in Elysium. And even more rarely he thinks he could discuss these things with Asterius or Andromeda or any number of the good souls who reside here. He never does, just as he never seeks out his wives or lovers or children in the realms of the dead. He tells himself they are better off without him, which is probably true, even if it is an excuse.)

He finds Andromeda in a peaceful chamber, lounging with a variety of shades playing music, surrounded by laughter. She is not directly engaged in conversation with any of them, and Perseus is nowhere to be seen, which Theseus takes as a good sign as he goes to join her. (Once Andromeda had made an amused comment that perhaps they did not get along because Theseus and Perseus were more alike than they’d like to admit. Asterius had snorted in agreement and laughter. Theseus refuses to think about it.)

He flings himself onto a pile of cushions next to her with an overdramatic sigh. She only looks at him out of the corner of her eye, lips curled in a mild smile. He heaves an even larger sigh, and when she continues to ignore him he rolls over to stare up at her.

“I told Asterius I had to talk to you.”

“Did you now?” Her tone is indulgent. Theseus is absently reminded of his mother—endlessly kind despite cruelties from their fathers and from the gods.

Theseus hesitates to continue, almost embarrassed (and embarrassment is an emotion that does not often come to Theseus). He wants Andromeda to press him further so he doesn’t have to take the initiative, but she doesn’t.

“I have found myself... noticing things about Asterius lately.”

Andromeda laughs. “You are not usually so observant. What kind of things?”

She is not mean spirited in the comment, and Theseus lets it roll off him like the waters of the Styx not an hour ago. He huffs and decides that is the approach he should take for all of this, shrugging off his embarrassment as if it were a fur cloak.

“He is very strong.”

“That is terribly obvious, Theseus.”

“It is incredibly attractive.”

Andromeda’s eyes go wide and her mouth opens in a perfect O of surprise before she covers it modestly with one hand. Then her eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Oh _Theseus_.”

“Do not laugh at me!” He swats half heartedly at her and some of the other shades in the room join her in wordless laughter. He would be worried for their gossip if not for the haziness around them, the circles of goblets, and the almost-sweet smell the Lethe emits when it is disturbed.

He squares his shoulders.

“He is very large and very strong and I find it very attractive, which comes as a surprise to me, given the stature of the women I have bedded in my mortal life.”

Andromeda raises an eyebrow at him. “And what of Hippolyta?”

Theseus feels a moment of apprehension that begins to edge into genuine terror—for one, Andromeda is not fond of his history and habits with his wives and lovers. For two, his wife Hippolyta specifically leads to his son Hippolytus, which leads to the curse he laid on his own child that led him to his death. That is, of course, not only a nightmare in its own right, but, as previously discussed, is delicate territory around Andromeda and Asterius. For  three (Theseus knows he is spiraling and is unable to stop it), Hippolytus leads to Phaedra, Theseus’s second wife and Asterius half-sister, which  then leads to Ariadne, Asterius’s other half-sister, which leads to the very complicated territory of having seduced and then wronged two of Asterius’s half-sisters, and having used one of them as aid in slaying Asterius himself.

The alarm must show on his face or in his silence, and mercifully Andromeda only smiles at him, amused. Theseus does not know whether it is luck, or she is in a good mood, or she simply does not want to endure the unpleasantness of discussing any of the heavier threads of this conversation. She allows him a deep breath, hands him a goblet of nectar, and waits for him to calm himself a bit before she continues.

“She was an Amazon, was she not? Known for their strength?”

“Ah! Yes, indeed!” And Theseus is back on the track of their original conversation. Perhaps his attraction to Asterius’s strength is not such a surprise after all. For a moment his mind recalls the power in Hippolyta’s shoulders, the way she pressed him down with ease, the way her abdomen flexed when she—

“Truly Theseus, you are alarmingly easy to distract when it comes to matters of desire.”

Theseus barely blinks. “Yes, well, I am beginning to suspect I am a plaything of a cruel Aphrodite. I think she must delight in setting temptations before me and trapping me in convoluted paths, as a rat in a maze.”

He winces when he realizes what he’s said. “Do not tell—“

“I will not tell Asterius of your poor choice in turns of phrase, it’s a trivial matter.” Andromeda’s voice grows hard then, “But you must know blaming Aphrodite is a poor excuse for your behavior.”

Theseus sighs, dragging a hand down his face, dropping the veneer of confidence and grandeur for a bit. (Idly he realizes his hair is still drooping from his trip through the Styx and his clothes are disheveled. He feels painfully inadequate, both compared to his usual self, and next to Andromeda. She is resplendent in silk, lounging with an effortless grace, golden makeup shimmering on her dark skin, the coils of her hair piled elegantly upon her head.)

“No I— I know. I do not mean to excuse my past behavior. Just that—“

He flounders a bit. He cares for Andromeda’s opinion of him, he realizes, because she is Asterius’s friend. Because for many years Theseus feared he had done wrong by Asterius, bringing him to Elysium, when so many of the exalted looked upon his form with distrust and disdain. Because for all that Theseus tried to be the greatest friend he could be to Asterius, he knows he alone could never be enough. Because after a lifetime in the dark, hated and alone, Asterius deserved as much love and friendship and companionship as could possibly be bestowed upon a single being.

He will trust Andromeda with this weakness.

“I do not mean to wrong Asterius in such a way. I have fallen prey to Aphrodite’s domain too many times, and I will not let Asterius be another victim of that. Of me. He is the dearest friend I have ever, or  could ever have, and I wish to spend eternity with him. I only mean that Aphrodite now drives me to distraction with this new knowledge of Asterius, and I am afraid I cannot fight it forever.”

Andromeda stares at him a long while. Finally, she speaks.

“Do you love him?”

Theseus scoffs. The question feels laughable.

“Of course I love him. He is my dearest friend. I think I may have loved him since we first met. Since I realized he could speak and he told me he was sorry, but he could not control his step-father’s decision to sacrifice my people to him. Since he told me he hated what he had done, but he must eat. Since he told me he would apologize for the fact it was my kinsmen he consumed, but he would  not apologize for wanting to survive. I have loved him since and I have only grown to love him more as I have known him.”

Andromeda’s gaze grows soft as he speaks. When he finishes she reaches up to brush his hair out of his face. Theseus is reminded of Asterius doing the same, of the gentleness as his massive fingers had skimmed Theseus’s cheek. He trembles and lets his head drop as Andromeda continues, helping him sweep his hair back into its usual coiffed style.

Finally she pushes gently at his chest, urging him back so she can appraise her work. She nods approvingly, then demurely folds her hands in her lap as she begins to speak.

“I do not think you are a good person Theseus.” (He cannot help but flinch as if she has slapped him.) “But I do believe you are trying not to be the person you once were. That you are trying to be better. That...” She pauses, deliberating on her words. “By bestowing your love and your friendship on Asterius, here in death, you have begun to make yourself into a better version of yourself.”

“I think you should speak to Asterius. I think, if you tried, you could love him, pursue him, and do so earnestly. I think it would be hard, and it would take effort, but that if you truly tried, you could find a version of yourself that pursues desire without sabotaging it.”

Theseus considers that for a moment. He is not sure he believes it, and he surely cannot speak with Asterius of it, but he also finds it difficult to distrust Andromeda’s judgement.

The moment is broken by a giggly shade flinging herself across their laps. Theseus can smell a blend of the Lethe and nectar on her breath, and she will surely forget this conversation in a few hours time. She is still corporeal enough that she speaks audibly, unlike some shades, but she is clearly beginning to fade, the shape of her face indistinct, all her colors washed out into a pale blue.

The shade pouts, swatting at Theseus’s chest.

“Love and desire are meant to be  fun . We live in paradise, you two should stop dwelling on sad things. Tell us about how strong your bull is. Tell us about how you want him to pick you up and fuck you on his monster cock.”

Andromeda scowls down at the shade but Theseus perks up. This, he can do. He is not one to dwell long on his mistakes and fears. This conversation will surely creep up on him in the hours when he attempts to sleep, these doubts will tickle his mind when he next sees Asterius. But for now? He can do showmanship and bravado.

“He pinned me down the other day, you know! It is what started this all. I am quite strong, as you all know, and yet he held me down as if I was no more than an unruly kitten! Why—"

Andromeda sighs and rolls her eyes dramatically, but her shoulders relax as she lounges back in her pile of cushions. She listens with amusement as Theseus regales the shades with descriptions of Asterius’s strength, teases him when he laments how difficult it has been to hide his arousal, and laughs at the heated debate some of the more drunken shades engage in, about whether or not the powers of Elysium would adequately protect and modify a human body or whether Asterius’s size would necessitate obscene amounts of lubrication.

For a little while at least, Theseus does find genuine joy and fun in discussion of his desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TLDR: Theseus chats with Andromeda about his pining, and cares about her opinion because she’s a close friend of Asterius. Both are aware Theseus was a dirtbag in life and had an awful track record with his love life (which includes two of Asterius’s half-sisters), but they largely skirt the details of it. Theseus admits to Andromeda that Asterius is the best friend he’s ever had and he refuses to ruin that with his dick. Andromeda suggests he talk to Asterius. A bunch of shades who are drunk on the Lethe (and won’t remember the conversation later) goad Theseus into gossiping about Asterius and his big dick.]
> 
> I know Theseus is a little wonky in this one, but certain concessions have to be made to have the Theseus of myth line up with Hades’ Theseus with a version of Theseus we can actually root for. Because personally, I would throttle classical Theseus with my bare hands in a heartbeat, I hate that man.
> 
> Also, while I had to at least acknowledge some of the myths, I didn’t get into the nitty gritty of them (which I hope wasn’t a problem for the readability), and there’s a few I’m choosing to ignore entirely. Part of that is the previously mentioned issues with awful content that I don’t want to write, or throw at people who just want to enjoy pining and strength kink. Part is also that they highlight things that are hard to resolve with a modern moral compass, and some really vile sides to the Olympian gods that aren’t in-line with Hades’ canon.
> 
> Smaller things: yes, Andromeda supposedly gets put in the sky ‘as’ a constellation when she dies, but who knows what the hell that'd actually mean in practice. I needed someone who could reasonably be in Elysium (by both mythological standards, and my own), who would tolerate Theseus, and isn’t too obscure. Andromeda ticked all those boxes and more, and was too good to pass up.  
> Also, I remembered after writing this that Minos is one of the judges of the dead but I have elected to ignore that because it’s stupid and he’s a shitty bastard. 
> 
> Sorry about the long note y’all, a lot to address here. I promise I make it up to you next chapter (Chapter 4: Things Get Explicit). Enjoy the double update!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theseus pines (first in a horny way, and then a sentimental one. And then in a horny way again). Theseus fantasizes. Elysium provides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it, this is the second part of a double-update. Last chapter is (fairly skippable) mythological references and some angst, so if you're just looking for the smut and the pining, this is the one for you.
> 
> This one gets NSFW y'all.

After his conversation with Andromeda, and the subsequent gossip with shades drunk on nectar and the waters of the Lethe, Theseus eventually finds his way back to Asterius.

Asterius is readying himself to rest, and he watches Theseus as he enters the shared living space that connects their private quarters. Perhaps he senses Theseus no longer carries the same disquiet when he fled, because he only nods once, firmly, with a snort, before he returns to disrobing.

Theseus feels the heat burn in his gut, but he forces himself not to turn away. He never had before, and he will not allow his new discoveries to change his behavior now, not when it clearly troubles Asterius.

Instead he chatters at Asterius, finding a surprising amount of the conversation with the shades acceptable to repeat. Or at least, acceptable in that it is not about Asterius. None of it is acceptable for polite society, and Asterius often snorts derision at some of the filthy gossip Theseus regales him with. Nonetheless, Asterius seems vaguely amused, and carries the odd pleased set to his shoulders every time he hears Theseus and Andromeda bonded without his presence.

Theseus ignores his arousal as he watches Asterius shed his clothes. Asterius is more reserved about his nudity than most of the dead within Elysium (and certainly moreso than Theseus), but he always sleeps in the nude, and quickly learned to be unbothered in front of Theseus at least.

Theseus cannot silence the echoing voices in his head of the gossiping shades, especially at the sight of Asterius’s cock. (“You’ve seen it right? Do you think you could fit it down your throat?” one had asked. Another had wordlessly implied that Theseus may be a large man but surely even he would be split apart.) Despite that, he tries, and mostly succeeds at ignoring them.

When Asterius finishes disrobing, Theseus strides up to him, pats him firmly on the shoulder.

“Shall I help you braid your mane, my friend? So it does not tangle as you sleep?”

Asterius acquiesces, folding neatly down on his knees in front of Theseus. Theseus maintains his previous stream of one-sided conversation as he combs his fingers through the longer hair that spills down Asterius’s spine. The contented rumble that spills out of Asterius nearly distracts him several times, but he perseveres until all of Asterius’s hair is pulled back and tidy.

Theseus had to drop to his knees to reach the base of Asterius’s mane, in a parallel to earlier at the Styx, so when Asterius rises, he towers over Theseus. Theseus is left gaping up at the perfection of Asterius’s body above him, at the weight of his bare cock, at the gentle face that gazes down at him.

“Thank you, my king. Theseus. Goodnight.”

And then Asterius lumbers off to his private rooms, leaving Theseus kneeling and hard beneath the skirt of his tunic.

When he finally stumbles to his own room, he opens a drawer and finds the powers of Elysium have provided him with two simple smooth cylinders, one incredibly thick, and the other (relatively) thin. Both are lightly curved, with flared bases, and obvious in their function despite the lack of detail. He stares.

Then, after several minutes of silence and stillness and a shockingly blank mind, Theseus finds himself flinging his body down upon his bed, tearing his clothes off like a man possessed, and pausing for only a moment to consider which goes where. (It’s an easy decision. He remembers kneeling in front of Asterius. He remembers the shades’ speculation as to whether he could swallow Asterius’s cock. He also remembers, with a wince, the debate about whether shade bodies would accept penetration at that scale without significant lubrication.)

He slides the thicker dildo down his throat, choking several times around it. It’s good—it’s so good. He has no real need to breathe, so the lack of air is simply a heady rush with no threat. He imagines the way his throat works as if it’s around Asterius’s cock, imagines the groan, the tremble of his thighs. When he finds it comfortably seated, he fumbles for the second, as well as a tin of salve he keeps primarily for bruises. It would not be enough for the thicker dildo, he is sure (despite some of the shades being convinced their bodies here in Elysium would yield to anything), but for the thinner one, it will do. He slathers it, hiking his legs up, and presses it to his entrance.

As soon as he begins to press it in, he is struck with a thought: its width is just that of one of Asterius’s massive fingers. He comes with a strangled cry, rocking it into his body as he rides out the orgasm, attempting to extend the pleasure as long as possible.

He comes down, body still humming with pleasure. He pulls the dildo from his ass with a squelch that is vaguely appealing to his endorphin-addled mind, and vaguely disgusting to the rest. The one in his throat he leaves there a moment, swallowing thickly around it, idly contemplating a fantasy where he kneels before Asterius, who leaves his cock there for some time, soft and warm while he— And that is where the fantasy ends, because Theseus can think of no task for the champions that necessitates or even allows extended idleness.

It’s not a bad fantasy, if impractical, he thinks, as he sets both toys aside. He’d pictured himself on the opposite side of things once, but his wife at the time had been unamenable. (Theseus does not push himself to recall which wife it had been, or if it had actually been a lover instead. None of the options will lead his mind down a pleasant path, and he is sated and content and would like to bask in it a little longer.) Theseus had never before considered himself being used like that, and now that he does, he can see why it may not appeal. He supposes, on further thought, that it probably wouldn’t appeal to him were it any other but Asterius. He wants to cherish Asterius, give himself over to Asterius, body and soul, so Asterius will understand how much Theseus trusts him, how Theseus never takes Asterius’s loyalty and companionship for granted.

He continues to lay there, thinking absently of kissing his way up Asterius’s chest. One of the small delights of dwelling in Elysium is the control they are allowed over their bodies. The afterglow will not fade until he allows it, and if he willed it he could bend his body’s endurance to impossibility. He’s seen it, a few times, chambers of Elysium devoted to Aphrodite’s powers, where the shades there fuck for eternity, unhindered by the limitations of physical bodies, perpetually dragging their pleasure into ever-more-dizzying heights. Once upon a time he may have found his place there.

But his first act upon death was to retrieve the minotaur, and what possible orgy could compare to the joy of fighting by Asterius’s side? Or of the joy of taking Asterius’s hand and walking him through the halls of Elysium? The joy of watching Asterius’ eyes wide with wonder at the plant life, and the butterflies, and the abundance of joy, and the sheer volume of shades who care for each other, who offer each other companionship.

Theseus thinks of the first time he’d styled Asterius’s hair, of the time he took Asterius to a shade who had once been a tailor and a shade who had once crafted armor and requested matching clothes for them both. Theseus thinks of the rumble in Asterius’s voice when he’d said, “I do not understand, my king, but if it pleases you then I am glad that you have chosen to share this joy with me.”

Theseus remembers training Asterius in every weapon he knew, then finding shades to teach them both the weapons they did not. And he thinks of how, after they had exhausted all their options, they knew all there was to know, he had presented Asterius with the greatest example he could find of each, scaled to Asterius’s size. He recalls the awe in Asterius’s eyes, the faint doubt when he looked at Theseus and Theseus ensured him every weapon was his for the choosing, and if he wished them all then Theseus would ensure Elysium built them an armory. Asterius had finally hovered his hand over the double-bladed axe, hesitant, and Theseus’s mind provides him with an image of Asterius wielding it now, confident and magnificent and awe-inspiring.

He did that, Theseus thinks. He gave that gift to Asterius—not just the axe itself, but the confidence, the reassurance that Asterius is worthy of gifts. And Asterius is strong and steady and no mistake Theseus could possibly make would ever take those gifts away from Asterius now. That feels like a revelation, perhaps, through the haze that still hangs over him. He is still too dazed for it to feel sharp or urgent, but part of his brain recognizes it as Important. Something to examine later, perhaps, as his mind wanders to other things.

Most notably, he wonders how loud he had been. He notes that his chambers reek of sex, even to his nose, and that surely Asterius will smell it when he wakes (if he has not already been woken by Theseus’s choked cries). He does not allow the bliss to fade, which leaves no room for anxiety or humiliation, and instead gently palms his cock again as he imagines Asterius intruding on his chambers.

He does not have the drive to will himself back to hardness, but he lulls himself to sleep with vague fantasies of Asterius pushing open his door, breaking the hinges as if they were made of paper. He imagines Asterius’s nose flaring as he takes in the scent of Theseus’s pleasure at its full potency. Asterius’s voice as he says “You are hardly quiet, my king.” The last conscious thought Theseus has is a fantasy of Asterius grabbing his hips, pulling them into the air and dragging him effortlessly down the bed until Theseus is suspended and floundering, incapable of any leverage, and Asterius pulls him back onto his cock. Theseus lets out a soft sigh, and drifts to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asterius wakes Theseus. Theseus takes a bath (but gets a little messy first). The champions return to the arena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a long one (with a smutty center). lmk if it feels too dense with this writing style and I'll chop any long chapters in the future into more digestible chunks.

Theseus wakes, facedown, sheets mercifully cleaned by the powers of Elysium’s shifting paradise, but nude and still reeking of sex. More importantly, Asterius’s palm lays on his back, splayed so wide that the span of his thumb to his pinky nearly reaches across the width of his shoulders. Asterius is not wearing his gloves, Theseus is not wearing anything, and the heat sinks into his bones like soaking in the baths.

Theseus stares vacantly into the darkness of his pillow, tasting the linen against his tongue as Asterius’s thumb sweeps a steady motion across the curve of his shoulder blade. Asterius must hear the change in his breath, or feel the anticipation in his muscles, or maybe even smell the first stirrings of fresh arousal through the thick smell of it growing stagnant in the air.

“My king, we are wanted in the arena.”

Theseus forces himself up on his elbows. He does not think about the weight of Asterius’s hand, about how he could keep him pinned. Asterius allows it, but does not move away.

“Ah, of course Asterius! I simply—" Theseus manages to bluster his way through his usual bravado but comes up short in making an actual excuse. There’s not much point, Asterius surely knows what transpired, and Theseus has not hidden from Asterius in the past when stirrings of arousal and pleasure took him. But until recently he always excelled at keeping Asterius from his thoughts. Until today, he has never had to confront Asterius with the evidence he took pleasure in himself, when that pleasure was driven by thoughts of the minotaur himself.

Whether or not Asterius knows _that_ part is still unclear. But Asterius takes pity on him either way. He lets out an amused snort, and lifts his hand, only to pat Theseus’s flank as if he is a particularly obedient animal deserving of praise. Theseus immediately wants to fuck down against his sheets, or buck back into Asterius’s touch.

“I can buy you time for a bath. There are a few lesser heroes who wished to fight each other, who I can ask go first.”

Theseus sits up fully, beaming, ignoring the way that puts his arousal on clear display.

“Thank you Asterius, truly! In fact, I would say that choice is not only practical, but a sign of good showmanship! For who would be excited to see others fight after they have already witnessed our splendor? We must always save the best for last!”

Asterius’s deep laugh makes Theseus feel as if he has been turned inside out.

“Very well then, my king, I will arrange for all the other competitors to go first. Our opponents may not be happy about it, but they can wait. And it will allow you for a very long bath, unless the others are truly incompetent.”

Theseus waits until he can feel the thunder of Asterius’s footfalls fade before he himself rises. There is little point in clothing himself as he heads to the baths, and Elysium shapes itself such that he only traverses a few sparsely-populated rooms before arriving at a small private antechamber to larger public baths. A few shades along the way giggle at him, and one or two beckon him to expend his energy on them, but Theseus pays them no mind. It is nothing most of them have not seen before, and Elysium itself ensures no room he passes through has shades who would find themselves bothered. (This is paradise after all.)

Nonetheless, he is glad that Elysium has led him to a private chamber to cleanse himself before he soaks. Even if Elysium can ensure a room where all its occupants desire a show, Theseus does not want an audience, not when he thinks of the minotaur.

He grips his cock firmly, determined to quickly burn the lust out of his system before he must fight beside Asterius. He closes his eyes, pictures his waking this morning, and allows his mind to change its outcome to his liking.

This time, Asterius’s hand on his back does not let him rise. He keeps Theseus pressed down, and then when Theseus struggles and squirms, Asterius presses harder, sinking Theseus into his mattress.

Theseus voice is demanding (if he is being gracious), needy (if he is feeling more desperate). “Asterius, beloved, let me up.”

Asterius’s bass rumble is nearly a growl. “I will not. You will stay where I put you.” His hand slides from Theseus shoulder blades to the small of his back, and then his thumb swipes down to press against Theseus’s hole, where he is still loose and open (and in the fantasy, sloppy as if Asterius had fucked him last night as well).

Theseus opens his eyes briefly in reality, finding himself sprawled on all fours, fumbling beside himself where he finds a convenient jar of lubricant, surface pristine and smooth. Fortunately, Elysium has provided him no sex toys this time, for it would be hard to reconcile the logic that they are magical and new with their presence in a room adjoining a public bath. He dips his fingers in the lubricant, feels the jar dissipate beneath his hands, and reaches back to finger himself open as he loses himself in the fantasy again.

Asterius shoves one giant finger inside of Theseus, and his feet and hands scramble across the bedsheets, less to get away and more an expression of too much sensation spilling through his body with nowhere to go. Asterius leans down, and licks the sweat from Theseus spine before proceeding to fingerfuck him with the same strength he displays when he fights. It is not rough or violent, but the intense, unavoidable pressure that ruined Theseus the first time he was pinned.

Or maybe. Maybe Asterius would grab him by his hair, lace his fingers in the strands so gently, twist so many up in his grasp that when he pulled, steady and slow, it would barely sting. Maybe Asterius would pull him upright on his knees, arousal on display, visible in the weight of his cock and the peak of his nipples and the spasms of his abs.

Perhaps Asterius would want Theseus to show off, would demand he touch himself, all while still fingerfucking him into oblivion.

Theseus gasps around the saliva pooling in his mouth. In reality, he has only one hand free, so he has to chose between his dick and his chest. He is close, gods he is close. He doesn’t need much. So he curls one hand around the swell of his pec, imagines it is larger, soft with a thin layer of fur, and so much stronger than his own as he squeezes.

“Asterius. Asterius, Asterius, Asterius!” He chants, as orgasm finally barrels into him.

He allows himself just a minute in the afterglow this time. Finally he levers himself up, wipes his hand on a towel, and scrubs himself down with another and several buckets of freshly warmed water. He does not allow himself to soak too long in the public bath, only enough to loosen his muscles. When he leaves, Elysium brings him straight to their antechamber in the arena. A spare set of clothes await him, as well as the minimal armor he chooses to wear, and a cask of oil for his body.

He lathers himself, more sparingly then he once might have, for Asterius grumbled that it stuck in his fur when he picked Theseus up to fling, or they otherwise touched. That was a pleasure he would not deny himself simply for the narcissism of an aggressively gleaming body. He no longer bothers much with his back either, preferring it bare to the awkward patches were he to attempt it alone. Once, before Asterius had grown comfortable enough to complain about the oil, he had helped Theseus with it, and while Theseus knows he still would, if only he were to ask, he has no desire to discomfort his friend so.

He is nearly done with this ritual, still nude and rubbing the last of the oil down his thighs and calves when Asterius enters. He snorts good naturedly at the ritual, as has become habit, and Theseus defends himself the same.

“It is important for the champions to look their best Asterius! You know this!”

“I do. I would not allow you to braid garlands in my hair or spread paint on my horns if I did not.”

Theseus laughs, the big booming laugh he knows will be heard in the arena, an announcement he has arrived as much as it is an expression of his entertainment.

“Do you truly though, Asterius? Or are you merely humoring me?”

“Perhaps both.” Asterius punctuates his statement with a long stare at Theseus’s shining, chiseled chest and bare thighs where he has yet to wipe away the excess oil.

Theseus thanks his own wisdom and foresight in pleasuring himself before his bath. The previous orgasm is recent enough to prevent an involuntary reaction in his body, but he can feel the tickle in the back of his brain that tells him he could will himself to hardness again, just from the weight of Asterius’s gaze.

He ignores it, and dresses and gathers his weapons while Asterius updates him on the first few bouts that have occurred.

“There was nothing you could have learned from my king. They were fairly unimpressive.”

“Nonetheless Asterius, I enjoy critiquing their form with you, and so I regret I have missed any!”

Asterius snorts, amusement obvious in his posture, but does not protest, and the two exit to the stands to spectate the handful of fights left before their own.

All are talented in the way that any fighter in Elysium’s arena must be, but like Asterius had noted, most are otherwise unremarkable. A few have their moments:

There is a faceoff between two sets of partners, one set small and speedy, the other a pair of massive brutes who take innumerable hits with barely a grunt, who seem sure to lose, worn down by relentless attacks. Theseus is ready to dismiss them, but Asterius tips his head curiously, leaning forward a little, and Theseus practically lunges to the railing to see what Asterius has found so interesting. One of the small fighters darts in, and their target, previously slow and lumbering, suddenly swings with incredible speed and precision, slamming down so hard that their opponent instantly vaporizes.

The stands erupt in raucous cheers, and Theseus cannot help but be impressed. Asterius leans back, satisfied.

The remaining half of the smaller pair clearly realizes the miscalculation, darting away rapidly. The two large fighters advance, slow once again. They alternate between slow attacks, and much faster ones that barely miss. The crowd is eating up the tension, roaring, but Theseus is experienced enough to recognize the pair is missing intentionally.

He can’t help but laugh, leaning into Asterius’s arm.

“They are quite talented showmen, my friend!”

Asterius leans back into Theseus. “Indeed, my king.”

Theseus taps a finger against his chin, in a showy display of thoughtfulness. “Now, the true question is, can they tell the right moment to end it? Can they drag this fight to its peak without overextending the attention of the crowd?”

Asterius hums in thought. “I do not know, my king. I suspect are not so skilled yet, but we shall see.”

The small fighter left standing fights much more cautiously. They focus mostly on dodging, only taking strikes when they are confident that even the pair’s new speed cannot hit them. There is something to be commended in that as well, how quickly the lone fighter recognized and reassessed their situation, adjusting their tactics accordingly. But it is not enough, and eventually they fall.

That too, is a calculated move, and it delights Theseus. The larger pair clearly intended to drag the fight on longer, to win even more adoration from the stands, but the small fighter suddenly darts in. They unleash an incredible flurry of strikes, abandoning their previous caution, winning cheers and gasps from the crowd. The intensity of the attack forces one of the pair to reflexively land a killing blow. The tiny figure looks up, grinning defiantly into the stands as they dissolve.

Theseus is cheering along with the crowd, and Asterius watches him, clearly entertained by his delight.

“Asterius that was wonderful! We must seek them out later, challenge them to a friendly spar at least!”

“Which pair?”

“Either! Both!” Theseus exclaims.

The minotaur whuffs out an amused breath. “Very well. Neither set will be a match for you, but it would be entertaining.”

“For _us_ , Asterius!”

Asterius considers him for a moment. “You could defeat them on your own.”

Theseus clasps Asterius’s hand. “I would defeat them with you, my friend.”

Asterius averts his gaze, but there is a relaxation, a comfort in his posture that Theseus drinks down like ambrosia. “Very well, my king.”

The other fights are less impressive. There is a woman warrior (not an Amazon, Theseus is fairly sure), who faces down five of the less distinct exalted. They are smart enough not to underestimate her, but it is inadequate, and she brings them all down with ease. The fight itself is unimpressive, but Theseus would be interested in seeing her fight a more worthy opponent.

He tells Asterius as such, who only raises an eyebrow at him. “Like yourself, my king?”

Theseus thinks a moment. “No. I think—“ He pauses to arrange his words best, as he only really does for Asterius. “I think the way I fight would be familiar to her. I do not think we would see anything particularly unique in her style were we to face each other. But you, my friend! I think you could bring out something unexpected from her! I think it could be a magnificent battle, though surely you would win.”

Asterius seems unconvinced, but he acquiesces. “If you would like to witness that fight, my king.”

Theseus frowns and folds his arms. “What I would like is less important. If _you_ would like. If you feel no excitement in such a bout, there is no need to fight her. Unless she challenges you, of course! In which case you have a responsibility as a champion! But there is no need to seek it out.”

Asterius seems unsure of what to say to that, and the next fight draws their attention away.

The remainder primarily consists of Theseus critiquing their forms, scoffing when they make obvious mistakes, and loudly proclaiming to Asterius what they could’ve done to win. He enjoys explaining things to Asterius, showing off his knowledge and his analytical skill. He enjoys the way Asterius tips towards him attentively when Theseus is teaching him something he did not know or could not see himself, and he enjoys the way Asterius’s shoulders roll back when he is exasperated at Theseus proclaiming the obvious or the inane. But even then, Asterius still watches Theseus as he speaks, still pricks his ears forward to listen.

Most of all he enjoys when Asterius offers his own commentary—when Asterius grumbles at sloppy fighting, when he now notices something Theseus had previously pointed out, when he curiously asks how something is done (or if they could attempt it in their own sparring), and when Asterius sometimes sees things even Theseus misses.

The fights themselves may be worthless, undeserving of Theseus’s attention and time, but conversing with Asterius is something he would give up all of his oil and gold and finery for.

Finally, their own fight arrives. It is against another partnership, which is not unusual. Though many fool-hearted heroes choose to fight the two champions alone, thinking it will win them greater glory, many recognize the futility of that. Team fights against the champions often range from two to four opponents, but have, on a few notable occasions, numbered into the dozens. None (save the hellspawn, who has many gods on his side, and does not count) have defeated them yet.

Today they face two. Lovers, Theseus suspects, surveying the tall man and woman. Theseus is always particularly fond of fighting duos, because always, without fail, they cannot begin to match he and Asterius. It only ever highlights the perfection in how he and Asterius fight, how in-sync they are.

This time is no different. The couple is skilled enough, but they do not always know where the other is. Sometimes they move towards the same target, resulting in a delay where at least one has to stop and reassess their plans. Sometimes one will unintentionally put themselves in the way of their partner. Sometimes they turn to find the other, only for their partner to be in a completely different place. Moreover, their fightings styles lack a certain synergy. They are not similar enough to seamlessly match each other’s rhythm, nor are they different enough that their tactics cover each other’s weaknesses and together they span a breadth that is impossible for opponents to fully counter.

The duo cannot stand up to the champions, cannot offer much of a fight, but still Theseus thrills at the opportunity to showcase his own partnership. Multiple times, Asterius’s attacks back one of their opponents into a corner where they discover Theseus has already aimed his spear. Or one of their opponents dodge out of the way of Theseus’s spear, only to turn and find Asterius barreling down upon them. Gaps in their opponents’ strategy, where they fumble between themselves, allow Theseus and Asterius to execute some of their showier combinations. Asterius flings Theseus high into the air where he briefly winks at the crowd before crashing into the couple, still trying to communicate a plan with each other. Theseus bounces shockwaves from Asterius off his shield, sending their opponents flying. He notices that Asterius hits these strikes harder than he used to, perhaps confident after their recent training that Theseus can take it. His shoulders rattle in their sockets, and when the fight ends, his arms are trembling, and it is oh so worth it.

They end it with a showy display that sets the crowd screaming so loud Theseus thinks they must hear it in Tartarus. They get the couple backed up against each other in the center of the arena, between Theseus and Asterius on opposite ends. Theseus’s spear lands at the same instant as Asterius’s charge slams into them, and the couple disintegrates simultaneously.

The height difference prevents Theseus from clasping their hands and raising them to the roaring crowd, so often he grabs Asterius’s arm instead, just below the elbow. This time however, Asterius leans down, and before Theseus can realize what he’s doing, he’s swept up onto Asterius’s bicep and shoulder, their hands clasped together as his own arms wrap around Asterius’s.

Asterius’s body is warm, muscles firm beneath where Theseus sits. The side of his horn presses into the softest part of Theseus’s abdomen, and a few errant leaves from the garland in Asterius’s hair tickle his bare thigh.

The crowd is screaming, chanting their names— _TheseusAsteriusTheseusAsterius_ —until they blend together as if one word, one continuous thought. Asterius bellows in victory below him, and Theseus’s blood sings, while every part of his body aches with want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for the arena fights to get so long, but they got away from me. I do imagine that's a huge chunk of the champions' day-to-day life in Elysium, and I had fun with how the champions would interact in their natural habitat. And for all his posturing, I think Theseus would pretty genuinely enjoy and be good at analyzing fights. Also, I'm in love with the idea that the shifting qualities that manifest as randomness when you play as Zagreus are Hades (the realm) having a will of its own, and in Elysium it generally shapes itself to whatever its residents want.
> 
> Again, lmk in the comments if the density/length of this one was a bit much so I can adjust future chapters (and possibly split this one for future readers). Next chapter's on the shorter side already, but chapter 7 is long again, and there's a few more chapter in progress past that!
> 
> (I'm also thinking I may take this fic off anon next chapter? Feedback from all of you has been great, and even if there's probably little to no overlap with the other fandom I've written things (smut) for, I'm planning on doing some Theseus/Asterius oneshots after this fic, and possibly some Charon/Hermes if I can find something new I can bring to that party.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theseus has time on his hands. Asterius has friends. Theseus offers some begrudging prayers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the shorter side this time. (And this series is officially off anon!)

The next few days (or what passes for days in the realms of Hades) leave Theseus a lot of time to think. Normally he begrudges idle time alone, preferring to keep active or indulge in company—to burn brightly in the arena, to train with Asterius, to lounge and drink and gossip with Asterius and Andromeda and other more tolerable shades of Elysium.

But after the last fight, there have been no urgent new challenges, only a few scheduled ones that are some time off. He and Asterius train on occasion, and they do find the smaller pair from the fight they had witnessed. Unfortunately, the two warriors had begged a little time to recover, and to train themselves more properly as to deserve a fight with the champions. They insist they are inadequate, and likely always will be, but they would like the chance at least to polish themselves such they do not completely waste his and Asterius’s time. Not that time is something Theseus has any shortage of, he complains to himself now.

Outside of their periodic training, Asterius seems to be keeping busy in his own way. He trains sometimes, with other minor heroes, or attends some of the smaller, more relaxed parties around Elysium. Theseus keeps an eye out to ensure they are all people deserving of Asterius's attention and time, but Asterius seems content, so Theseus leaves it be. Except that it leaves him without a companion, and while he gets along well enough with some of the less-important shades that dwell in Elysium—ordinary people largely, rather than warriors and heroes—they're a pale imitation of Asterius's presence. But more often than not, when he seeks out the minotaur, he is occupied.

Theseus stumbles a couple times upon Asterius with the man rumored to once be Achilles’s companion and love. Since Patroclus has no fondness for Theseus, he stays away, but he knows Asterius is fond of the shade. They do not seem to talk, from what Theseus witnesses, but they sit in companionable silence, Asterius running his fingers through the flower-speckled moss while the shade stares quietly into the Lethe, or at the massive statues that dot the chamber.

Several times Theseus seeks out Andromeda, each time with some different thought rattling in his skull, but each time he finds Asterius with her. He does not join them, merely beaming when they notice him before taking his leave, but he enjoys the few moments before he is seen. He likes observing an Asterius who is comfortable and beloved and has found companionship in several places where once he had none, and then only one.

And as Patroclus urges a unique peacefulness out of Asterius, Andromeda draws out a humor, a bashfulness, an easy laughter.

He will find often find the two in the aftermath of a joke or a particularly amusing anecdote. The tip of Asterius’s shoulders, the curve of his spine, the angle of his head, are all tells as loud as the way breath huffs from his nostrils. Asterius’s body language shouts his amusement to Theseus as clearly as Andromeda’s does, flopped over on a cushion or Asterius, chest heaving, hand flung over teary eyes and mouth open in a wide smile.

And Theseus watches as Andromeda will smack her hand against Asterius’s chest, or bury her face in his shoulder to muffle her giggles, or yelp in startled delight against his arm. She is tiny beside his bulk and Asterius does not flinch from her touch. He does not hesitate, as he did long ago, to rest his hand on her back or shoulder or to cup the back of her head protectively when her laughter nearly sends it reeling into the edge of a table. Asterius so clearly shows no more fear—no fear that another’s touch is an act of pain or injury, nor fear that he will crush others with his strength, destroy them with the violence he was raised to believe was at his core.

It burns in Theseus’s chest, a terrible ache and a tremendous joy all at once.

He attempts multiple times to consult Andromeda alone, and each time is foiled. Not just by Asterius (though he does not begrudge them their companionship, and is glad to relinquish the opportunity), but by shades he recognizes as shameless gossips, or those that share Andromeda’s disdain for Theseus’s past behavior, and are not so gracious to him as she is. (He wonders if he should find others to talk to, but he needs someone who knows Asterius, who he can loosely discuss Asterius's past with, and who is willing to sit through conversation with Theseus. That is a woefully short list. A list of one.)

Once he nearly succeeds, finding her mostly alone. The shades that linger are so old and faded and aimless they are barely aware of what occurs around them, simply repeating old habits and patterns. He flings himself down next to her, relieved, and opens his mouth to spill a long list of complaints, and then Perseus enters the chamber. Theseus scowls, presses a chaste kiss to Andromeda’s cheek, and storms out as she laughingly bids him goodbye and rises to greet her husband.

Finally, in absence of the chance to confide in Andromeda, he resigns himself to prayer to Aphrodite. He gathers up a few bottles of ambrosia, and makes his way to a small shrine in her name. He knows prayers from the underworld to Olympus are often muddled, but he has nothing else to do, nowhere else to turn.

His prayers are awkward and meandering. He laments the desire that still burns within him. He begs Aphrodite for answers in whether he should read anything into Asterius’s touch, or his newfound distance. Sometimes he merely talks, about anything and everything that pertains to Asterius. Occasionally he loses himself, lets his voice boom at its usual volume, caught up in pride and delight with his friend, gushing about Asterius' performance in the arena, or his strength, or his wisdom, or, in all honesty, anything about Asterius that comes to mind. Elysium shapes itself such that he is always alone when he arrives, but he can sometimes hear sounds drift from adjacent chambers, and surely they can hear him. None of what he says so loudly is terribly incriminating, without the knowledge of what chamber he is in. With the way doors change their destinations, he doubts any will find out his shouted praise of Asterius happens in conversation with the goddess of love. Nonetheless, whenever he catches himself being so loudly effusive, he ends up cutting his prayer short, mumbling a conclusion before hurrying off.

He attempts this several times, dropping his proffered bottle into a basin of glittering pink liquid—ambrosia when he’s feeling particularly desperate, and nectar for when he’s a little bitter at Aphrodite’s lack of aid. Only once does he hear a reply, and then Aphrodite simply laughs at him, bright and chiming, and parts with a whispered _Oh Theseus, since when have you hesitated at being bold?_ It’s entirely unhelpful and Theseus is petty enough to refuse to return for several days.

Of course, then he chances upon Asterius stretching, out in an open meadow of Elysium, basking in the light, and completely nude.

He stumbles off to his rooms, and bites down so hard on his own arm to muffle the shout when he comes that the bite mark refuses to fade for several days.

He balefully slinks back to Aphrodite’s shrine afterwards, and drops a bottle of ambrosia into the basin once again. He does not bother with a prayer, only a loud and petulant “What are you doing to me?” She does not answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is pretty short, but it always felt appropriate to have this part contained like this, and I promise I make it up to you with another long chapter next time. I'm strongly of the opinion that Asterius needs and should have a genuine support network and group of friends outside of Theseus. Also, I don’t find Perseus as a potential character very interesting, and I don’t particularly like him, so my original way around having to write him was to have Theseus also find him uninteresting and not like him. (I ended up writing him in the next chapter anyways, but so it goes.)
> 
> Next chapter is also the end of the initial buffer I churned out in a manic fury after ch1. I have a little gap in the transition after that, but otherwise this fic is just about fully written, conclusion and all. Next chapter will still post Friday, hopefully the weekend will give me enough time to finish 8 and get it up on Monday, and it'll be smooth sailing from there. And while I had a few ideas to drag things out even more (potentially a brief appearance from Hypnos), I think it’s probably time to wrap things up, so I'm going ahead and putting total chapter count at 10. If there’s anything specific you want to see in these pining stages before we really hit endgame, now would be the time to mention it (though no promises)!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asterius touches Theseus a lot. Theseus is very caring. (Theseus is also a little stupid.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No critical news today, just the usual long end note about hashing out classical myths v game content v this fic. Also once this fic is all posted I'm planning on posting a reinterpretation of the original Theseus & the minotaur myth that I wrote out last night, for people who have been enjoying that side of things, but more info to come as we get closer to it!

Though it feels like ages to always-restless Theseus, things return to normal quite quickly—the champions fight in the arena, they attend dinners and parties together, they train, they take long walks through Elysium as they converse. Except. It seems like Asterius touches Theseus all the time now, and it’s driving him mad.

When they spectate other fights, rather than raise his voice above the din of the crowd, Asterius will lean down, one hand wrapped around Theseus’ shoulder, breath tickling his ear.

When they partake of ambrosia and nectar alongside other heroes, and Asterius hands him a goblet, their hands will not merely brush. No, now Asterius will often curl both his hands around Theseus’s, ensuring he has a firm grip.

At one such gathering, with both Andromeda and (unfortunately) her husband in attendance, Theseus distractedly hands a slice of pear to Asterius. He is talking to some shade—Asterius would admonish him for forgetting this hero’s name—facing them, rather than Asterius who sits beside him. He feels a touch against his palm, and whirls around to see Asterius eating the fruit directly from his hand, lips brushing Theseus’s fingertips. Theseus stares, wide-eyed, and promptly crushes the goblet held in his other hand.

“Oh!” Andromeda gasps, spilling some of her own nectar in surprise.

“Huh,” Perseus comments, “I have never seen that happen, not even with our great-grandson.”

“Yes! Well!” Theseus huffs, trying to mask his embarrassment, “Perhaps Heracles is not all he is made out to be.”

Andromeda laughs, Perseus scoffs, a few miscellaneous shades gasp, and Asterius rests one gentle hand on Theseus’s arm.

“Perhaps, my king,” he says, “You should not try so hard to offend every other major hero that dwells here.”

Theseus manages words of agreement through his daze. (He misses the looks Asterius and Andromeda exchange in the aftermath.)

Theseus swears he can feel the heat of Asterius’s hand on his arm and mouth on his fingertips for days.

Or—there are multiple repeats of Asterius waking Theseus after a post-pleasure rest. Every time Asterius finds ways to rest his bare hands against Theseus’s skin, lingering in his room for far far longer than necessary. It happens sometimes with normal nights too, as Theseus is often inclined to sleep in the nude.

There are genuine moments where he considers doing otherwise, if only to dampen Asterius’s touch. He largely dismisses that plan, but on one occasion he caves, swaddling himself in long draping robes, and claiming it is a ward from the chill. That is, of course, a ruse, as Elysium never changes temperature. And the deception concerns Asterius enough that he reaches forward to press a large palm to Theseus’s forehead. The span of it simultaneously cups up the curve of Theseus’s scalp, and covers his eyes.

He does not swat it away, but it is a near thing. The combination is too much—the warmth and size of Asterius’s palm, the blatant worry visible on his face before Theseus’s vision was cloaked in darkness, the concerned rumble of his voice that feels so intense and loud in the absence of sight that Theseus feels he will be swept away in it. He ends up grabbing Asterius’s wrist and pushing his arm back, trying to brush it off with a loud (only slightly shaky) laugh.

“ _Asterius_ , we are dead! I cannot catch a cold or develop a fever!”

Asterius only frowns.

“Besides, my friend, where did you learn such a gesture?”

Asterius sits back slowly, staring faintly off to the side, and his brow furrows.

“I am not sure. I think... I dream sometimes. I am not sure if there is any truth in it, but sometimes in my dreams I think I remember my mother doing the same, once.”

Theseus feels like he has been punched in the gut. There is a stiffness in Asterius’s shoulders and a vacant look in his eye.

“Oh Asterius. My friend. I am sorry.”

Asterius shakes his head, opens his mouth as if to speak. Theseus already knows as clear as day what he will say—that there is nothing to apologize for, that Theseus need not carry that burden, that it is a past long gone. He does not allow it, already stepping forward to Asterius.

Theseus gently cradles Asterius’s head in one hand, and applies gentle pressure to a horn with the other, tucking Asterius’s massive head to his chest. Asterius quiets, and stills. To accommodate the shape of Asterius’s head, and the height of his horns, Theseus holds him sideways, cheek pressed against his abdomen. He can feel Asterius’s slow blink, the flutter of his eyelashes apparent against his ribs, even through the robes. He can feel the warmth of Asterius’s breath ever so slightly dampening the cloth as it gusts from him. He can feel the tip of one of Asterius’s horns press very slightly up against his throat.

Eventually Asterius’s own arms come up, hands pressing upon Theseus’s back. Theseus runs one hand gently through Asterius’s mane, and with his other gently scratches his nails through the shorter coat across Asterius’s skin. They remain there, Theseus standing in front of a sitting Asterius, and Theseus refuses to let go until Asterius himself begins to pull away.

He plans to ask Asterius how he feels, if only he can find the right way to say it, but as soon as Asterius pulls back, his legs begin to wobble. He has no idea how long they stayed like that, and he did not realize until now how much he was bracing himself against Asterius to stay upright.

Asterius snorts at him, then wraps his arms around the backs of his thighs, hoisting him in the air such that he tips forward over Asterius’s head, braced against his horns. Asterius’s snout is firmly pressed into Theseus’s groin as he blindly maneuvers them into Theseus’s room, and deposits him on his bed. It’s only the shock that prevents Theseus from growing hard immediately.

“I am perfectly well Asterius! There is no need to—to manhandle me!”

“Maybe you are well, and maybe you are not. Either way you should rest.” Asterius bows his head briefly, then turns to depart. He pauses in the doorway to look back at Theseus.

“Goodnight Theseus.”

It is only force of will that keeps Theseus from touching himself, and the knowledge that these robes will be far too much a pain to deal with. He falls asleep restlessly, and then wakes to Asterius’s hand wrapped fully around his bare wrist.

“Thank you, my king, for your comfort last night.”

Asterius’s expression is gentle and soft, and though he cannot really kiss as humans do, he leans down and presses his wet nose to Theseus’s jaw where it meets his ear. Theseus lays in silence as Asterius leaves, and then has to spend a good two minutes grappling the robes out of his way to get his hand on his cock.

He quickly deems that experiment a horrible failure, in that it failed to prevent Asterius’s touch and Theseus’s longing. Parts of him, however, grip tightly to the memory of Asterius’s thanks, of the softness in his face, of the intimacy they shared. Nonetheless, he never attempts to don long robes again.

Or—on another occasion, the two manage to stumble upon a fight among the Exalted in a random chamber. They are the kind of Exalted who fought valiantly enough in various wars, but are not skilled or important enough heroes to ever appear in the arena. Despite that, they still thirst for glory, for merit and skill in battle, and refuse to content themselves, like some, living out peaceful lives, or training themselves safely under the protections of Daedalus.

Theseus avoids them, when he can. There is something grotesque, he feels, in their bloodlust, the repetition of throwing themselves into death. There is no audience or spectacle, and they are not skilled enough, sharp enough, that the risking of their lives ever bestows any improvement in their skills. High stakes can hone some, but when he watches Exalted of this sort, he knows that is not the case here. (When he had discussed it with Asterius in times past, Asterius had thoughtfully agreed, but also mediated it: “Perhaps that is the privilege of those who have never been weak, for us to think this way.”)

Nonetheless, that day, they find themselves unexpectedly in the midst of a battle, genuine and untempered and lethal. Theseus manages to summon his shield to himself, bring it up in time to deflect an errant shockwave, and fails to realize there are traps in the room as well. Asterius’s hand grabs him by the belt and lifts him with ease, yanking him out of the way of a glowing ballista bolt, and back through the doorway they had just entered.

Theseus is sprawled back against Asterius’s chest. Both are panting with an exertion they rarely display even in the arena, despite not engaging in the fight. In the dim threshold between chambers, the door shut in front of them, Theseus looks back and sees Asterius backlit. He cannot see Asterius’s face, only the way he fills the doorframe. He can feel the massive swell of Asterius’s pectoral beneath one of his palms, and the circle of one of his large hands braced around Theseus’s bicep. In the dark, Theseus is almost daring. He pushes himself up on his toes a moment— And then a group of shades glides past them, the door opens (onto a different chamber than before), and the moment is lost.

He perpetually feels now that his skin is too tight, his nerves oversensitized, his whole body attuned to Asterius’s presence. He has resigned himself to being unable to spill his thoughts to anyone, so it is purely by chance he stumbles upon Andromeda several days later.

He and Asterius had just trained with a few heroes Theseus has never met but Asterius had, and Asterius knows him so well. Each of the warriors he brings before Theseus is incredible—not as incredible as Theseus himself, or as Asterius of course, but brimming with potential. None are nearly strong enough yet to participate in fights Theseus would witness in the arena, not yet, but he can sense it practically spilling from them. It makes his blood sing the way each of them surprises him, the way each only takes a few bouts before they create new, and fairly effective ways to counter Theseus. It ends with Theseus throwing his head back in delighted laughter as each hero eventually collapses of exhaustion. He makes them promise to continue training, for he would like to see them in the arena someday. As each graciously picks themselves up and thanks Theseus, he turns, and finds Asterius watching him.

Theseus had ignored the jackrabbit of his heart, and beamed at his friend, who stood up from the ledge he was perched on to approach.

“You enjoyed that, my king.”

“You know I did Asterius! Fine picks, each and every one!”

Theseus manages to keep his voice steady and confident and strong even as Asterius steps closer and closer and finally looms over him. He has to tip his head back incredibly far just to maintain eye contact.

Asterius wraps a single huge hand around Theseus’s wrist. His fingers don’t just meet, but begin to overlap even. Asterius stares down at Theseus, even as he begins to rub his thumb slowly across the delicate skin there, and for all his willpower, Theseus could not break his gaze.

“I am glad, my king, that my choices... please you.”

They stand that way for a minute or two, so close that Theseus has to take quicker, shallow breaths, because if he let his chest heave with the air he needed to gulp down, their skin would touch. Finally, Asterius lets go of Theseus’s wrist, only to cup his hand against the side of Theseus’s neck in a brief, gentle gesture. He leaves with a look back over his shoulder and a tilt of his head that’s as good as a smile.

When Theseus gains his wits enough, he wanders off on in a daze, meandering through Elysium. He brightly greets clusters of shades that swarm in adoration on autopilot. He thanks them for being loyal fans and promises them many more incredible fights in the arena to come. Somehow, his voice and smile show no sign that his mind is completely elsewhere.

Which is how he ends up entering a random chamber to find Andromeda and her husband snacking on fresh fruit. The relief at finding Andromeda free of any accompanying shades, or Asterius himself, is so great that Theseus decides he can tolerate, or rather, ignore Perseus’s presence.

Andromeda smiles when she notices him, beckons him over to sit beside her on a low bench.

“You look quite flustered, champion,” she teases.

(“What are you talking about?” Perseus asks, “He looks the same as always.” Theseus ignores him completely.)

“Andromeda, I am _ruined_.”

“So dramatic,” she laughs, and she reaches up to pat his cheek. It’s only a little patronizing, and comforting enough that Theseus leans into it.

(“Watch yourself with my wife,” Perseus grumbles from somewhere.)

“Asterius is very... tactile lately, and it is too _much_! I am glad he is comfortable with touch now, truly, immensely, but I am always so aware he grew up utterly alone. Were it anyone else, I could have confidence that their actions were a flirtation! But it is Asterius, sweet, kind Asterius, and I fear it is merely his way of conveying his trust.”

Theseus heaves a deep sigh. Andromeda isn’t saying anything but the twinkle in her eye leaves him certain she’s laughing at him.

“Andromeda, I know not what to do! I cannot take advantage of him!”

“I’m sorry,” Perseus interjects, shoving his head too far into Theseus’s field of vision for him to able to ignore it. He scowls at Perseus.

“I’m sorry, the _minotaur_? You are talking about the _minotaur_? You’re afraid of taking advantage of the _minotaur_??” His voice raises in volume and incredulity each time he repeats the word.

“His name is _Asterius_!” Theseus snaps at him.

“Ok, that’s not the _point_!”

“I was not talking to you! You— you— you irrelevant hack!”

“Excuse me?!”

Of course the fight devolves. Both end up summoning their weapons to themselves—Theseus his spear, and Perseus his stupid magical sword. They never actually come to blows, but both end up waving their weapons dramatically as punctuation to their shouts. Andromeda only sighs and goes back to eating.

Theseus finally throws down his spear in a huff, letting it dissipate and return to his and Asterius’s antechamber in the arena. He turns on his heel to storm off (Perseus still shouting insults at his back), but Andromeda stands up to catch his attention. He begrudgingly walks over.

She only takes his hand gently, smiles at him, and says, “I think you should talk to Asterius.”

Then she kisses his cheek, and puts a small hand between his shoulder blades to shove him back towards the door.

When he makes his way back to his and Asterius’s shared chambers, Asterius is sharpening his axe. Theseus flings himself face down on a lounge, and buries his face in a pillow.

“Someone has irritated you, my king.”

Theseus tips his head just enough that he can see Asterius in the corner of his eye and his answer is only half-muffled: “Perseus, the wretch.”

Asterius laughs, low and deep. “You willingly subjected yourself to Perseus’s presence? That is quite unlike you.”

“I wished to speak to Andromeda,” he mumbles, aware he is beginning to sound sulky but unable to stop himself.

Asterius raises an eyebrow. When Theseus offers no more, he sighs.

“What for?”

“It’s... nothing my friend.” Then, before Asterius can develop the pinched look on his face when he knows Theseus is lying, Theseus continues: “I am merely being a fool, and I was enough of one that I thought Andromeda might help me instead of tease and give me advice she knows I will not take.”

“Ah.” The rumble of Asterius’s voice is far closer than expected, and Theseus looks up with alarm to find Asterius towering beside him. Asterius is skilled and capable of many things, but stealth has not usually been one of them.

Asterius kneels down beside the lounge, and rests one massive hand on the back of Theseus’s head. His eyes flutter closed despite himself as Asterius strokes down his hair.

“Would you speak to me of it?”

Theseus violently shakes his head no.

“Very well, only know that I am here whenever you have need.”

Theseus manages a mumbled, “Thank you, Asterius,” into the cushions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I want to pick Theseus up by the back of the neck and shake him because of how dumb he is. Use your brain, king. Then I remember I'm the one writing him that way. Yoops.
> 
> And, yes, I did end up writing Perseus in this chapter despite previous attempts to avoid it. I don’t care enough about him to care if this characterization makes much sense. All I wanted was Theseus bemoaning what a gentle delicate flower Asterius is and someone picturing the like 9 ft tall, muscle-bound, crush-a-man’s-skull-with-one-hand minotaur like ‘???? pardon???’
> 
> Also, once again in proofreading I had a moment of ‘wait a minute’ where I retroactively remembered my classical mythology and that I fucked something up. In this case its that Heracles ascended to Olympus upon death, instead of going to Hades (and presumably Elysium). But I’m also like 90% sure I remember dialogue in the game after one of your first encounters with the champions where Zagreus gets huffy at his dad and is like “what, you couldn’t bring out Heracles?” Which leaves the options of A. Zagreus is making a dig at the fact that the strongest hero is actually on Olympus instead of in Hades, or B. Heracles is in Elysium in Hades canon (whether by intention or a similar forgetfulness on Supergiant’s part). As absolutely hysterical as A is, I’m too fond of horny grip Theseus and a Theseus who gets along with precisely Zero other heroes in Elysium so I left it as is. (Also I’m lazy.)
> 
> Elysium, perfectly capable of producing uncrushable goblets for its heroes: i’m about to end this man’s whole career


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two (and a half) much needed conversations. Theseus is forced to confront a number of things, and manages to talk about them without really talking about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of serious conversation here: a return of Theseus's angst and insecurity, and discussions of autonomy when gods are involved. Note that there's some oblique references to issues of consent in original myths related to Theseus & Asterius, but nothing detailed, and any ambiguity about autonomy and consent within the narrative here gets resolved.

Theseus returns to Aphrodite’s shrine. He sits down on a crumbling pedestal, props his chin in his hands, and scowls at the glittering fountain and the mounds of gifts around it.

Maybe it’s his uncharacteristic silence, but he feels something change. The cadence of the bubbling water perhaps, or some quality of the light, or something in the air. It’s that vague sense that he can never quite pinpoint, that manifests as a shiver down his spine, an odd sensitivity at his fingertips, every time he communes with the gods in the arena.

He’s had little need to summon their powers lately—the hellspawn has yet to return, and few opponents here in Elysium are strong enough to warrant it. But it has not escaped his notice that recently, the gods who have answered have not included Aphrodite. Nonetheless, here, now, in this chamber, he feels it. There’s a specific prickle, and a heat in his cheeks that he's learned signals Aphrodite’s presence. (Not that it would be anyone else right now.)

_Not going to ask for my help this time?_

Theseus continues to scowl.

_I suppose you never really do, do you darling? You huff and you complain and you ask for answers, but never a solution._

Theseus could swear he feels a warmth by his side—a presence in the shape of a body, gentle pressure against his arm with all the give of soft skin. He doesn’t turn to look; he knows he won’t see anything.

_Are you mad at me, sweetheart? Oh you **must** be. Are you afraid I am messing with your head?_

A long pause.

_Are you afraid I am messing with your beloved minotaur’s head?_

Theseus jumps to his feet, in a sudden, overwhelming rage.

“You will not touch him! You will leave him be! You and— you and Poseidon have done enough! I refuse to let you hurt him!”

There’s not really the sound of a sigh, in that there’s not been any real sound at all, but there’s the impression of it.

_You mortals really must have the most complicated relationship with us gods. I could play the big scary goddess and tell you that there is nothing you could do to stop me, if I really wanted, but you know that already. Better than most, I would think. But more importantly, that’s no **fun**. So instead I’ll be honest, because even if explaining things is a bore, it might genuinely be less of a bore than how you are right now._

Theseus is half convinced its not entirely his imagination when he pictures Aphrodite, leaning back on one hand, swinging her legs and pouting in mock frustration.

_It’s quite hard for me to influence things in the Underworld you know! I can, if I try, as you can attest to yourself—you’ve used my powers, and you’ve seen me use them for dear Zagreus too. But it’s such a **pain**. It’s not worth all the effort, nor my uncle-in-law’s ire to get involved unless I’m called upon. And you don’t want me involved! You never have. You want my advice, but not my interference. So I don’t!_

_Micromanaging is no fun anyway, not when you two play so delightfully on your own. I don’t need to do anything, Theseus dear, this is all you._

Theseus swears he feels a kiss pressed to his cheek, and then the sensation is gone. He’s in an empty chamber with a pink fountain, quietly burbling away, surrounded by flowers and fruits and sweets.

Perhaps whatever will powers Elysium has a small amount of sadistic humor to it. It leads him in a quiet wandering path through Elysium, for the most part, which is good. Theseus needs the time to think, to figure out what to do now that question has been answered. He can’t focus enough for anything concrete, but he can feel thoughts shifting, rearranging, coalescing in the back of his head. Which suits him just as well—if his brain can resolve things without his interference, without having to consciously address it all, that’s all the better. But then Elysium opens up into a chamber which is empty save one figure.

Perseus, of all people.

Perseus looks up at the sound of the door, sees Theseus there, and opens his mouth to speak, an annoyed look on his face. But he must see something in Theseus’s expression because the annoyance melts away into something that could only be called alarm.

“Hey, hey what’s—what’s going on?”

Theseus doesn’t answer him.

Perseus looks like he’s beginning to genuinely panic now, which Theseus would find funny under any other circumstances. His hand is hovering over Theseus’s arm as if afraid his touch will somehow hurt him. Which is laughable, Theseus thinks. He doesn’t feel like laughing.

“Ok,” Theseus takes a deep breath. “Ok, we are going to find Andromeda, and... ugh, no, because she might not be alone. Alright, lets take you home and I’ll get Asterius.”

“No!” Theseus grabs Perseus’s wrist. “No!!”

Perseus pauses, turns back to look at Theseus.

“I really do think you need to talk to him.”

Theseus shakes his head. “You know nothing you... fool!”

“I know a lot more than you apparently!” Perseus snaps.

“Excuse me?? I am the—“

“Champion of Elysium, yes, I know, everyone knows.” Perseus pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just... get you home so I can be rid of you.”

“Yes, well, the feeling’s mutual,” Theseus huffs, but he follows Perseus out the door.

“At least you’re almost back to your usual irritating self,” Perseus grumbles.

Elysium brings them to the living quarters Theseus and Asterius share. Theseus sits down on a lounge, legs feeling oddly shaky, and Perseus shoots him a suspicious look. Seemingly satisfied, he departs with a promise to fetch Andromeda.

And then he returns, Asterius in tow.

Theseus flies to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger at Perseus.

“You traitor! You liar! You dishonorable, horrible, terrible—“

Perseus is shouting back. “You have nothing rattling around in that empty head of yours! Someone needs to make you see sense—“

And then Asterius raises a single hand, and both heroes go silent.

“Perseus,” Asterius says. “I appreciate you fetching me, but you told me Theseus needed to see me, and I cannot approve of your apparent lies to both of us, nor your decision to take things into your own hands. Thank you for your aid, but I think it’s best you leave now.”

Perseus mumbles a faint “He does need to see you,” but even his bravado is quelled in front of the minotaur, and he slinks out with a single glare back at Theseus. Theseus resists the urge to send him off with a crude gesture.

When Perseus is gone, Asterius turns his attention to Theseus, who drops his gaze to the floor in an attempt to avoid meeting his eye.

“My king.”

Theseus isn’t sure how to answer.

Asterius folds himself to kneel before him, in order to meet his eye, and Theseus finally looks up, alarmed, scrambling to his own knees to avoid standing over Asterius.

“Asterius, my friend, please— do not kneel before me so! I am not worthy of it!”

“You are,” Asterius answers, and the absolute confidence with which he says it is a blow to the chest.

Asterius gently lifts a hand to cradle Theseus’s cheek.

“Theseus, my king, what bothers you so?”

“I—do you ever fear that the gods manipulate us still, Asterius, even here, now, in death?”

“Mostly, my king? No. Especially not now that we have faced Zagreus, aided by the gods. I can confidently say I know now what it feels like to have my will stripped from me by Lady Aphrodite, and I do not feel that influence in the rest of our lives. Or deaths, rather.”

Theseus winces, the specificity a little too close for comfort.

“Do you?” Asterius asks quietly.

“Not... not for myself. The things I... feel... they are not unexpected. They—“ Theseus hesitates.

Finally, he continues, forcing himself to watch Asterius and his reactions. “Asterius, my friend, you are incredible and unbelievable and wondrous and the... awe I feel at being close to you is... of _course_ I should feel these things. I know I do not need any influence from the gods for that to be the case. It’s only natural that I should feel these things! But you—“

Asterius is watching him equally carefully.

“You think the gods control my actions?”

“No! Not now, at least. Not _ever_ in full, only that—“ and Theseus slowly turns his face towards Asterius’s palm where it still rests against his cheek. He raises one of his own hands to wrap around it.

“This, my friend, this confuses me. I do not understand why you would... touch me so. I never feared anything else from you was manipulation; I know you, and you are true and honest. But here, in this, a horrible part of me hoped that this was the gods, so then I could simply beg Aphrodite away, and things would be easy again. Because if it’s not the gods, then—“

And here Theseus trails off, uncertain how to continue.

Asterius voice is a low, steady rumble, despite the starts and stops as he speaks.

“I... enjoyed it, my king. Touching you. Being allowed to touch you. I... could sense that you drew pleasure from it, and I drew pleasure from that knowledge. I could not bring myself to ask for more, I knew it was not my place, but I was... I am content with whatever you will give me. And I thought... I also was giving you something, some small pleasure.”

“Asterius.” Theseus buries his face in the thin fur of the minotaur’s chest. He’s not sure what to do with the knowledge that Asterius _wanted_ to touch him. That Asterius knew his touch drove Theseus mad with desire and that Asterius _liked_ that. “Asterius, my dearest friend, you _tortured_ me.”

Asterius jolts back, as if genuinely afraid he has been hurting Theseus, and Theseus has never felt such an intense urgency as now, wanting to soothe Asterius’s anxiety and correct his misconception.

“No!” Theseus forces himself to raise his head, cup one hand around Asterius’s jaw, gaze directly into his wild eyes.

“You did not truly hurt me Asterius, not in... It was the sweetest hurt, you must understand. I would not, _could_ not have given it up for anything, even as I wished the confusion of it would cease.” He pauses. “You say you could not ask for more, but you have always had it, had everything of me. You need not ask, it has always been yours. I thought... I thought you did not know what you did when you touched me, not truly.”

“I did,” Asterius rumbles, “Always.”

“I thought you knew not what you did,” Theseus continues, “and I would not let myself take more from you than you offered.”

Asterius’s voice is soft: “I am offering it now—whatever you want from me, my king, I give it to you, with the promise that I want it too.”

Theseus brings his second hand up to Asterius’s face, as if he could hold him in place, force him to gaze into Theseus’s eyes. Asterius does so willingly, but Theseus desperately wishes he had the strength to ensure it would stay.

“Asterius,” Theseus says, injecting as much seriousness into his voice as he can. He knows it works by the clear concern that washes across the minotaur’s face. He finds suddenly, despite his own prior insistence, that now he can’t meet Asterius’s eyes.

“Asterius, my dearest friend. You must understand. I ruin things. I ruined _your family_. I ruined my own. And I cannot excuse it as merely interference of the gods, or that I had no other choice, or that I was unknowing. Everything I have ruined I have done so knowingly, selfishly, callously.”

Asterius curls one hands around Theseus’s elbow, still speaking softly.

“You have not ruined me.”

“I did once.”

“But not here, not now, not since.”

Asterius’s head has steadily lowered as they speak. Theseus can feel the huff of his breath in his hair, in time with his words.

“Theseus, my king, look at me.”

Theseus cannot deny Asterius anything. Asterius is so close, his expression so careful, his touch so gentle.

“Do you not tell our opponents in the arena that our partnership cannot be severed? That our bond is the strongest that could possibly be forged?”

“It _is_ , Asterius, you know it is.”

“Then why do you doubt its strength here?”

Theseus does not know how to answer that, startled, as he stares up at the minotaur.

“Do you not have faith in us?”

Theseus’s mouth flaps wordlessly. Something about that eases the tension in Asterius, and he laughs, soft, barely audible, if not for how close they are.

Asterius leans down, pressing the wet of his nose into the crease of Theseus’s jaw and throat. He breathes, and Theseus trembles with it.

Finally Asterius pulls away, and Theseus instinctively leans forward to chase his touch. Asterius stills him with a hand to his chest, and Theseus can’t help the thin whine in his throat.

“We have time, my king. Infinite time. I can wait for you.”

Both of Asterius’s hands drop to Theseus hips (and ass, by merit of the simple size of them), then squeeze, firmly enough it makes Theseus’s cock jump.

He gapes up at Asterius, at the twinkle in his eye, then exclaims, aghast, “You’re _teasing_ me!”

“Perhaps,” Asterius answers, and he isn’t even trying to hide the laughter in his words. “You should rest now, my king, we have several matches in the arena when you wake.”

Theseus is still gaping up at Asterius, floundering, as Asterius drags them both to their feet and steps forward, into Theseus’s space. He uses his mass to force Theseus backwards into his room, until Theseus’s calves hit his own bed and he topples onto it.

“Goodnight, Theseus,” Asterius rumbles from the door, before closing it behind him.

Theseus flops backwards, and stares up at the ceiling. He does not sleep, he thinks, but his mind slips into a daze, and for the dead in Elysium, sleep is merely a formality, quiet stillness enough to refresh the body (if not the mind).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lead-up to the champions' conversation was the hardest part of this work. I had literally the entire rest of this fic finished the day I uploaded chapter 5 (and most of it before then), plus several sequel/epilogue smut oneshots. But getting into this talk? As difficult as fighting these two fuckers with a bad set of boons. 
> 
> Originally some of the questions here about autonomy and consent actually happened next chapter, but I was worried about the tone shift, and I realized they resolved some of this chapter's transition issues. It did end up making this chapter even heavier than originally intended, but it felt pretty crucial to address, given that both Theseus and Asterius have difficult histories with gods forcibly affecting lust onto their family members (if not themselves). Which is rough to work around, given the game’s more lighthearted presentation of the gods, but also impossible to ignore when they include the minotaur. (Once I hit mini-boss Asterius with Aphrodite's call w/o thinking, and I don't remember what his line was, but it sounded so distressed that I instantly remembered his whole origin story and felt like a monster. No idea if that was a super thoughtful dedicated line from Supergiant or I was reading into it, but I've never used it against him since.)
> 
> Altogether I'm not fully happy with this chapter--I originally loved the last third when I first wrote it, but now it feels like a lot of dancing around what they actually mean, and the lead-up really went in directions I didn't intend. (No idea how Perseus ended up in this one.) Let me know what you think?
> 
> Next chapter is smutty. Wildly, absurdly, improbably smutty considering these two haven’t fully worked things out yet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The champions both know what they want, and they keep skirting the arbitrary lines they've drawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s all smut. Lots of smut. Just absurd amounts of semi-resolved sexual tension. What the fuck does semi-resolved mean? You’ll see.
> 
> On the opposite end of the things, I'm debating whether I want to post my prequel reinterpretation of the original Theseus & the minotaur myth before or after the last chapter of this fic. That means the final chapter might go up Friday, or it might go up Monday. It also means that, if you don't see chapter 10 on Friday, and you're interested in the seeing more of the literary classical myth side of my writing, take a look for that fic! (It'll be gen so it won't be in the Theseus/Asterius tag when it goes up.)

Neither of them has acknowledged their previous conversation in the days since. But neither has Asterius ceased his constant contact with Theseus’s bare skin. He still wakes Theseus in the morning with a touch to his shoulder or back, and though he doesn’t linger as before, he still pauses in the doorway to throw one last glance at Theseus. He still takes every chance to touch Theseus when they dine or drink together, or when they walk amongst Elysium. He is increasingly forceful when they training against each other, favoring charges and grappling over his axe, and while he does not change his behavior during fights themselves, afterwards, as they greet the cheering crowds, without fail, he picks up Theseus like he weighs nothing, and carries him in a way that guarantees skin to skin contact.

Asterius is waiting for Theseus, and Theseus desperately wants to give in.

And so one day, they wrap up a fight in the arena, and Asterius suggests they visit the baths. Elysium brings them not to an antechamber for a public one, but instead to a smaller, private bath, where the space to clean themselves before they soak adjoins the bath proper. Theseus feels like he is going to tremble right out of his skin as Asterius insists on helping him wash his back, and it only gets worse when Asterius then requests he do the same.

He takes his time working the soap into a lather and sponging down Asterius’s back, both to relish in the experience as much as he can, and to delay their inevitable soak. Asterius allows him the slowness, snorting softly, but with no real urgency or impatience. When Theseus has wiped it down for the third time, and can’t possibly justify another, he sets down the sponge.

“Well then, my friend, you are clean! Shall we soak?”

Before Asterius can answer or turn around, Theseus practically springs to the pool and submerges himself. The water is clear and he’d be a fool to pretend the steam could hide anything, but there the illusion of it at least.

Asterius seats himself more slowly, and Theseus tries not to be obvious in the way he averts his gaze.

They sit there, knees bumping, and as small as the bath is (and as large as Asterius is), it is not _that_ small. But Theseus can’t come up with a good excuse to ask why Asterius has sat so close, so he begins a rapid stream of inane conversation to fill the space.

Asterius watches Theseus, amused and more intent on his words than Theseus is himself. His shoulders clearly relax as they soak. Theseus’s do not.

“You are tense, my king,” Asterius observes.

Theseus flushes.

“It was indeed a difficult fight!” (It was not.)

“Would you like a massage? Perhaps I can help alleviate some of your tension.”

Theseus goes perfectly still. Asterius seems content to wait on his reply.

Finally, Theseus nods, with a fairly weak “That would be delightful, my dearest friend!”

He sits on the lip of the bath, and folds a towel over his lap. It is an unusual display of modesty from him, and they both know it, but Asterius does not comment as he seats himself behind Theseus.

Asterius starts at his shoulders, and he uses the perfect amount of force. His hands are also so large they completely cover the considerable width of Theseus’ shoulders, and his thumbs overlap at the nape of his neck. Theseus whimpers. Asterius still says nothing. By the time he has worked his way down Theseus’s back, Theseus has found himself in the odd position of feeling simultaneously loose and relaxed while also buzzing with tension and energy.

Then, Asterius reaches the small of his back, and his fingers press with enough force they do not just work out the knots, but actively push Theseus’s back into an arch. Theseus finds himself with his head tipped back, staring up at Asterius bowed over him. Asterius breathes heavily, and Theseus feels it on his face, and down his chest where his nipples are peaking. Theseus is hyperaware of how his erection tents the small towel thrown over his lap, and the way a flush (from the heat, from the arousal, from both perhaps) diffuses down his chest. With the way Asterius towers over him, Theseus feels achingly on display.

Asterius’s knuckles continue to knead his back, pushing Theseus’s body to roll and twist in a way that he’s sure must look obscene. It _feels_ obscene. All the while Theseus can’t make himself break Asterius’s gaze. Asterius stares down, eyes half-lidded, and every time it feels like too much Theseus closes his own eyes, only to immediately open them again for the rush of seeing Asterius’s want.

“You’re a menace!” Theseus tries to make his voice ring bright and strong but it’s probably closer to a whine.

“Am I? I think you would not level such accusations if you could see yourself.”

Asterius finally releases Theseus from the spell his eyes put him under, and leans down to nuzzle against the back of Theseus’s hair. Theseus allows his chin to drop to his chest, both because his head feels uncontrollably heavy, and because it allows Asterius to trail his snout down to the nape of his neck. There’s a brief press of hot wet tongue there, and then the slightest pressure of teeth.

One of Asterius’s huge hands migrates to Theseus’s hip, and for a moment just the weight of that is stimulation enough. But then he grips (not tight enough to bruise, Theseus thinks, though he hopes it does), and bodily drags Theseus back and up to straddle a huge thigh.

Theseus nearly bites through his lip to restrain the moan at the pressure against his balls, the muscles he can feel flexing against his own inner thighs. And that’s before Asterius pulls him back, flush to his chest, and Theseus feels the long hot weight of his cock searing a line up his lower back. He throws an arm back, grasping blindly until he hooks it around Asterius’s neck, tucking his head back into the divot between Asterius’s bulging chest and bicep.

For a moment that feels like an eternity and no time at all, they remain there, breathing each other’s air. Theseus thinks idly that maybe he’ll come like this, entirely untouched, only from the sticky-damp cling of Asterius’s skin against his and the knowledge that Asterius—incredible, strong, gorgeous Asterius—wants him.

And then Asterius lurches up, shoving Theseus off his lap and onto his own feet. Theseus would worry something was wrong, if not for the strained whisper that issues from Asterius’s mouth.

“My king... we should...”

And then Asterius is steering them back towards the changing area where their clothes are stored. Despite the fact he is clearly restraining himself, breathing heavily with the exertion, he can’t seem to make himself let go of Theseus entirely. He pushes Theseus on with a hand to his hip or a press of his mouth to his shoulder or sometimes even just the entire line of his body against Theseus’s back. When they finally make it there, Asterius releases Theseus as if it physically pains him to do so. A thin modesty wall separates the area into sections, with shelves and hooks for storage, but it does not reach the ceiling, nor does it have actual stalls with doors.

They stare at each other, and then both frantically stagger over to respective sides of the wall. As soon as they are out of sight from each other Theseus wraps a hand around his dick, and this time doesn’t bother to hold back the moan. He can hear a thump as some part of Asterius drops against the wall between them, and he scrambles over to press himself face and chest first against the wall, to feel it shake and rock as Asterius apparently moves against it.

He keeps getting distracted from touching himself, enraptured by the sounds he can hear. Asterius is breathing heavily, punctuated by the occasional grunt or groan, and there’s the constant slick sound of flesh on flesh. He fumbles for something to slick his own hand with, and as he manages to wrap his fingers around a convenient vial of oil, he realizes with a start that he’s in the section where Asterius left his clothes. Asterius’s own tunic hangs from a peg right next to where Theseus has smashed his cheek to the wall, and he chokes back a moan. Then, naturally, he realizes he doesn’t need to do that himself, and shuffles over on hands and knees until he can bury his face in the folds of fabric.

There’s the faintest whiff of sweat accompanied by herbal notes—a sweeter floral fragrance from the grease Theseus uses to style Asterius’s hair, and the sharper earthier scent of the soap Asterius likes best to clean his short fur. Theseus’s original intention of using it to muffle himself is completely forgotten, and he only gets louder as he moans. He writhes on his own fingers, unable to track when he even put them inside himself, too distracted by the thought of burying his face into Asterius’s chest to smell the same scents there.

He can hear Asterius’s breathing and the wet sounds of his touch both accelerating, and Theseus speeds his own movements in turn. He almost thinks he’s pushed it too far, rapidly reaching that precipice, and he has to reluctantly pull his hands away. He wants, needs to hear Asterius come first before he allows himself to get lost in an orgasm. He refuses to risk being too distracted to miss that.

Asterius’s voice is strained and tight, huffing loudly, and then his breath hitches, he goes quiet, and Theseus’s name falls like a sigh. Theseus doesn’t have the chance to get his hands back on himself before his orgasm hits him like one of Asterius’s charges. He reflexively bites into the cloth against his face to (ineffectually) muffle his moan, and distantly hears a wrung-out groan in response.

Theseus allows himself to bask for a bit as he comes down. He can hear his own heaving breaths nearly match time with Asterius as they gradually slow and even out. He allows himself a moment to picture being next to Asterius, without this wall between them: laying on Asterius’s broad chest perhaps, or tucked under his arm, or resting his head against a massive thigh.

When both seem to have mostly caught their breath, there’s the sound of shuffling and the rustling of fabric from the other side of the wall. A long pause. And then:

“I suppose we must bathe a second time, my king.”

Theseus’s answering laugh is only a little hysterical.

It only gets worse (better) from there.

After a fight, they enter their arena antechamber, and both stare at each other, then whip around simultaneously. This time there isn’t even a wall to separate them, and Theseus is so tempted to turn around as he shoves his hand beneath his tunic. He doesn’t, and instead comes to the thought that maybe Asterius is facing him. Maybe Asterius is watching his arm work as he strokes himself, matching his own movements to Theseus’s pace. Maybe Asterius is watching the sweat pool and gather on his back. Maybe Asterius is watching the way his legs shake with the force of his orgasm. They both catch their breath, and then wordlessly exit as Elysium once again brings them to a private bath. Theseus resolutely tries to avoid thinking about their last experience here. He fails. He determines he will not look to see if Asterius’s cock is as hard as his. He fails. (It is.)

Asterius wakes him one morning with a hand on his stomach, and Theseus is instantly hard at his touch. He was sleeping on his back, sheets thrown back, so they both have a front-seat view to it happening. There’s a long pause, Asterius’s hand still warm on Theseus’s abs, and as if possessed, Theseus reaches down and wraps his hand around himself. He can’t tell whose groan is louder, but Asterius stays there for the first few strokes, and then slowly straightens up.

Theseus whines at the loss of Asterius’s hand, and stills his own. Asterius stands by his bed, waiting, for several long moments. When Theseus says nothing, Asterius backs out of the room.

As soon as the door closes, Theseus can hear Asterius weight fall against it, accompanied by a grunt loud enough to carry. He scrambles out of bed to press his ear to the door, desperate to hear every sound of Asterius touching himself. He knows he’s being even louder than Asterius is, but he can’t stop himself.

The two have a dinner with other heroes of Elysium. Asterius sits next to Andromeda, several tables away from Theseus. The two gossip, while Asterius meets Theseus’s gaze, peering up through his long eyelashes, and licks his lips. When they leave the party, Elysium brings them to an empty, and unusually shaded chamber. Asterius crowds Theseus against a wall, leans in to breathe in Theseus’s frantic panting, and then pulls away. This time they retreat to their own rooms, and with two doors and a shared living space dividing them, Theseus can’t hear anything, but he imagines what Asterius would look like, touching himself and sprawled across his own sheets. The next morning over breakfast, Asterius mentions that Theseus’s voice carries. Theseus shovels down the rest of his food, retreats to his room, and fucking screams when he comes.

They train, Asterius pins Theseus and slides his hand up Theseus’s thigh, they retreat to their shared home, and listen to each other through the walls. They spectate a fight, and Theseus thoughtlessly grabs Asterius’s arm to demonstrates a maneuver Asterius had been confused about. He looks up after he’s done, proud, to see Asterius’s heated gaze. Asterius praises his battle prowess, Theseus grows hard, and they stumble out of the arena stands before the fight is over. And so on and so forth.

One day, after yet another such incident, Theseus stumbles out a door, not even bothering to offer an excuse now, and instead of their home, Elysium brings him to Aphrodite’s small shrine. Theseus curses, and turns on his heel. This time Elysium opens to the right chamber—even through the short dim tunnel between, Theseus can smell the familiar musky scents of his own body oils, the sweet floral note of the fresh fruit Asterius insists they always have, the sap smell of the small tree he gathers their laurels from, and the herbal smell of Asterius’s soap. Theseus marches through the door, but not before he swears he hears bright sultry laughter and the faintest echo of _Darling, I don’t even have to do anything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter summaries:  
> Asterius touches Theseus 2: Electric Boogaloo. Asterius touches Theseus: reprise. Asterius touches Theseus: now with 2000% more smut! Asterius touches Theseus: this time it’s obvious. Asterius touches Theseus: the mutual masturbation edition. (Or, ‘Asterius offers Theseus everything he wants but the stupid bastard is too insecure and afraid of ruining the best thing he’s ever had to act on it, despite Asterius appealing to his horny side’, but that's sad instead of funny.)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theseus makes his move (even if he's not 100% sure what that move is). The champions share a quiet moment. Things are finally resolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter, we’re here!
> 
> Also, I posted a short reinterpretation of the original myth of Theseus and the minotaur, aka their first meeting, so if you enjoy the heavier parts of this fic, and/or the classical myth and literary elements, go check it out! It’s called [“Kings and Monsters and Men”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28921146) and its got a lot of feelings and trying to make classical myth Theseus not-despicable.

Theseus is tired of constantly being caught off-guard, teased so by Asterius. He is Theseus, champion of Elysium, and it is not in his nature to let others take charge so easily! Not that he’d ever deny Asterius. Not that it does not thrill him, (as much as it scares him,) to have Asterius so blatantly show his interest, his desire. Nonetheless! Theseus knows how to turn the tables, how to set a fight to his own pace, and surely he can extend that logic here! (He ignores the voice in the back of his head that says he has no idea what he’s doing, that he’s just grasping at ways to try and regain control.)

Which is why, one day, Theseus wakes Asterius by striding into his room, nude, rolling his shoulders back, and making a proclamation with all the considerable volume and confidence he can muster.

“What do you say to sunbathing today, Asterius? It is wonderful weather and I should like to spend some time with you!”

Asterius lurches up, eyes squinting open, and looks around groggily until he spots Theseus standing on display at the foot of his bed. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, works his jaw a little, and his tongue swipes out briefly to wet his lips. Theseus pointedly ignores the way he can’t help but track the motion, or the interested twitch his cock gives in response.

“Hrrf...” Asterius whuffs, before he slowly begins to speak, “I do not think it counts as sunbathing when it is not the light of the sun, but rather a tortured man strapped to a giant flaming wheel in the sky.” (Despite Theseus’s best efforts, Asterius _has_ been enlightened to the truth of Ixion. Theseus bitterly suspects it is Perseus who told him, with no real basis for this accusation.)

“Also, my king, it is always pleasant weather here. I see not what sets today apart.”

“Irrelevant!” Theseus shouts. “The weather is agreeable and I would like to spend time in it with you, should you be equally agreeable!”

Asterius snorts but finally sits up fully. Theseus does not look at the way the blankets tangle around his bare legs, does not glance to see if the outline of Asterius’s cock is visible through the sheets.

“I am agreeable my king.” Asterius sounds resigned, but in an indulgent amenable way, rather than a disgruntled one. Theseus beams even wider.

“Well then, my friend, I will let you— Hm, I suppose there is actually no need to get dressed!”

Asterius huffs a sigh, but gets up to splash his face with water from a large basin.

“Shall we depart then?” Asterius asks.

Theseus grins back at him, and strides from his room into their shared living space. Asterius reaches out a hand to grab a few fruit from a bowl, and then they exit their chamber, and Elysium’s doors open into a meadowy space filled with soft light.

The chamber Elysium has led them to is empty save for a profusion of butterflies and a handful of crumbling statues. It is perfect, Theseus thinks, before he then decides to loudly proclaim that thought as well. Asterius laughs softly, and yes, Theseus reaffirms to himself, it is perfect. Asterius is not yet so comfortable in his nudity around others, but in the quiet here, he is at ease and relaxed.

The two stretch out on the carpet of soft moss, and Theseus chatters about anything and everything as they sprawl out. Asterius hums in acknowledgement at all the right places, offering occasional thoughtful replies or commentary, proof that he is paying attention to every word said. In the meantime Asterius munches on some of the fruit he brought. The two of them discover a worn pedestal in the corner with a knife stuck into its surface, still sharp, and Asterius begins to slice the last fruit that remains.

Theseus is distracted by his own storytelling, and the sight of Asterius delicately holding a large knife that is still dwarfed in his hands. He is so caught up that he doesn’t stop to think when Asterius raises a slice of fruit to his lips, and he eats it right from Asterius’s fingers. A corner of his brain shouts, but the rest of his brain is still plowing through the story, refusing to stop, especially when Asterius is listening so intently, ears flicking, eyes crinkled in a smile at Theseus’s grand gesticulations.

Asterius feeds him the whole fruit that way while Theseus talks, and Theseus could not tell you what fruit it was, only that it was sweet and sticky, and that occasionally Asterius would allow his fingers to brush Theseus’s lips. When all that’s left is a core (or a pit, Theseus is too dazed to tell), he watches as Asterius sucks the last of it into his own mouth. Their mouths would carry the same sticky flavor if they were to kiss, Theseus thinks.

Asterius lays on his front, snout pillowed on his folded arms as he looks up at the seated Theseus. Several threads of conversation later, Asterius rolls over and Theseus thinks of the first reply Aphrodite had offered to his repeated prayers.

_Oh Theseus, since when have you hesitated at being bold?_

He thinks of the mild exasperation Andromeda has greeted him with at their last several encounters. He thinks of Perseus rolling his eyes. He thinks of the hellspawn telling Asterius he can do better. He thinks of Asterius sitting peacefully with Patroclus, and Asterius with his head bowed in whispered gossip with Andromeda, glancing at Theseus out of the corners of their eyes. And he looks down at Asterius, who nonetheless chooses to be here with him. Asterius, who is watching him quietly, and has not interrupted despite the new silence.

Theseus slowly lays down beside Asterius, and then gently, carefully, rests his head against Asterius’s chest. Asterius huffs softly, and then equally gently lays a hand on the small of Theseus’s back. When Theseus relaxes, he can feel Asterius relax as well, and the minotaur finally allows his gaze to wander from his careful consideration of Theseus’s face. Absentmindedly one of Theseus’s hands traces idle patterns in Asterius’s fur. The chamber is quiet, save the rush of the Lethe, and Asterius seems to be engaged in watching the butterflies flutter about.

It’s nice, peaceful, and though Theseus is half hard simply from nude proximity to Asterius he doesn’t feel any real urgency.

They lay there a long while. The light never changes here, and no one interrupts to fetch them. Theseus is drowsy and content, and he is sure that, more than anything else, it’s because he can feel relaxation in Asterius’s body, and hear the gentle rumble of his breathing.

Asterius’s voice is soft as he speaks. Theseus can’t tell if something has prompted it.

“Theseus, my king, what do you think will change?”

“I’m sorry? I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, my friend.”

Asterius snuffles a bit, before manhandling Theseus up to sit astride his abdomen. Theseus instinctively braces himself with hands on Asterius’s chest, and is struck with a deep aching awareness of how vulnerable Asterius looks below him. Not physically, not really, given his size and strength, but that Asterius has put himself in a position to be pinned, where he must look up at Theseus, and where Theseus has complete control should he decide to flee, or even avoid the conversation by averting his gaze.

Theseus’s hands clench into fists, but he decides Asterius deserves his attention. Even if he is unsure he is ready for whatever conversation is surely to come. Perhaps _because_ he is still unsure.

“My king,” Asterius starts, and then pauses, and re-corrects. “Theseus. You have said you are afraid of ruining things, but that you have had confidence in the form our relationship took until now.”

“I— yes.”

“And do you feel things have changed recently? Really, truly?”

Theseus forces himself to stop and think, for Asterius’s sake. There is the obvious—the ways in which Asterius touches him, the unspoken understanding of their mutual feelings simmering below the surface, the sexual encounters cut short, but still shared across closed doors and thin walls. But at it’s core—they still fight together with the same fervor and thrill in the arena. They still find enjoyment and entertainment in each other’s presence during idle hours in Elysium. He is still more comfortable with Asterius than he has been with any other in the entirety of his life and death. He still would, and does, give Asterius every affection and gift and attention he can bestow, and Asterius is still incredibly, illogically, endearingly loyal.

Asterius’s hands stroke gently across Theseus’s hips, but they don’t hold him in place.

“No, my dearest friend. I suppose not.”

Asterius’s hands flex for a moment, as if against his will, but are forced quickly back into relaxation.

“And what do you think would change were you to allow us this? Allow us something we both want?”

Theseus lifts a trembling hand to stroke Asterius’s face. He finds that by the time it reaches it’s destination, its shake has steadied.

“Nothing, Asterius.”

“Then what shall you do? I love you, my king, and I give this to you willingly; all you need do is take it.”

Theseus isn’t sure if Asterius is leaning up or he is tipping forward. Whichever it is, it stops short, faces inches from each other and breathing shared air. Asterius’s brow furrows in a slight frown—not an expression of real frustration, Theseus knows, but the idle resigned annoyance Asterius sometimes greets Theseus’s theatrics with.

“Theseus,” Asterius turns his head to speak directly into his ear. “Think of what we could have. The important parts will always stay the same, but I can touch you, I can taste you, I can fuck you.”

The final sentence is punctuated by Asterius’s hands finally ( _finally_ ) tightening on Theseus’s hips, and for a moment he’s sure Asterius is going to simply pick him up and drop him on his cock. Theseus, dazed with the possibilities spinning in his head, thinks for a moment his body would allow it. He feels relaxed and loose-limbed and overwhelmingly in love and he thinks he could take anything Asterius would give him.

Asterius pulls his head back enough to make eye contact again as he speaks, and lands the final blow.

“I could kiss you.”

And with that Theseus lets everything drop—the vague anxieties in the back of his head, the restraint, and his own body. He presses his mouth against Asterius’s. It’s hardly a kiss in the conventional sense, given the different shapes of their mouths, but it’s enough, and Theseus falls into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was never just (enemies to) friends to lovers, you see! It was ‘always been in love but had to get horny to realize and act on it’ all along!
> 
> I’m calling this one complete here, but rest assured there is a good deal of both smut and feelings to come, which I’ll be releasing as oneshot sequels and prequels. I’m turning both this and “Kings and Monsters and Men” into series—smutty sequels will be in this one, and literary, myth-heavy, pre-relationship, pre-game pieces will be in the other series, so keep an eye out! I’m not done with Theseus and Asterius by a long shot. (Also, let me know if you have any opinions on the update schedule, bc I have no idea how I want to distribute sfw vs nsfw content. Friday night smut? MW weekday smut with some sfw feelings for the weekend? Whatever, whenever?)
> 
> And of course thank you all for the support and enthusiasm, I’ve been absolutely blown away by it. I can’t articulate how incredible it’s been to hear people get excited, especially repeat commenters who took the time to check in even if they didn’t have anything long to say, and everyone who wrote out something thoughtful engaging with my admittedly absurd author’s notes and writing process. I’d love you hear your final thoughts here at the end of it all, & I hope to see you guys again on future work!


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